Pwince Woki - An Extended Imagine Loki
by tomstinkerbell
Summary: Reader's little girl gets lost, and she's none to happy with who ends up finding her. . . . at least, at first.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

Rated Mature for later content, but very G Rated for the first lksdfjl chapters - a very slow burn - but getting progressively less so as he and the Reader become more involved, eventually leading to D/s, Dominant Loki, spanking, sex, etc. So if that's not your thing . . .

Also, If being or having a lost kid is triggering, you might not want to read this.

In later chapters, if talk of mild abuse bothers you, you might not want to read this.

I just love the idea of Loki being like this. Sigh.

Imagine your headstrong little girl - who is very small for her age and quite delicate looking - refuses to use her stroller sometimes and does so this time because she insists on wearing her tiara. Apparently you are woefully ignorant of tiara etiquette, and are informed, in her lisping, lilting way, that girls who wear tiaras - and the wings and top off a Tinkerbell costume matched with a little green dance tutu as well as pink, sparkly sneakers - do not ride in strollers.

Which inevitably means that the first time you turn your back on her, she wanders off in the park in the middle of the city on a busy Saturday afternoon.

You are, of course, frantically looking for her, trying - unsuccessfully - to hold back tears as you do so.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the big park, a very tall, dark, sinister looking man in a strange uniform that deliberately makes him appear just that much bigger and more menacing, sees a beautiful, tiny little girl with a mass of brown ringlets on her head - who is hardly much more than a toddler - standing near the lake with her little fingers in her mouth, crying softly around them and being heartlessly ignored by passersby.

Shaking his head in disgust at Midgardians, the big man walks calmly and quietly over to the little girl, kneeling down before her as if to great royalty in deference to her tiara, but really just trying to make himself a little smaller so she'll be less likely to be afraid of him.

He affixes what he hopes is a friendly smile - that doesn't come at all naturally to him - to his face, hoping it doesn't look scary to the child, and speaks to her in a soft, soothing tone. "Greetings, tiny Princess. Are you, perhaps, looking for your mother?"

She nods slowly, fingers still firmly in place and big tears rolling continuously down her face.

"Well, I happen to be a prince myself - of sorts," he winks at her, and thinks he might see the beginnings of a tentative smile through her heart-wrenching sobs. "Would it be all right if I helped you find her? I'm much taller and I can see better, and I will very gladly fight off all manner of rabble to keep you safe until you're back in your mother's arms. I will not leave you until then."

Despite his reassurances, she nods slowly and a bit reluctantly, eying him with no small amount of suspicion.

She is obviously a very smart child, he thinks to himself.

"My name is Prince Loki," he says, placing his arm across his chest and bowing his head to her formally. "And you are Princess . . . ?"

"Wiwy," she answers, fingers finally being withdrawn from her mouth.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Princess Lily."

She delights him by then executing a somewhat wobbly curtsy, and this time his smile is more genuine than it has been in years. He chuckles in delight, straightening beside her. She looks a bit stricken that he's all the way up there now and she's all the way down there, but he instinctively offers her two long fingers to hold, which she grasps with a strength that surprises him - and sets his severely reluctant heart to aching for what he has missed in his life as he firmly, carefully wraps his other fingers around her little wrist.

"Where was she when you last saw her, little one?" he asks, walking with her very slowly, adjusting the length of his stride so that she won't be taxed trying to keep up with him.

But her tears, which had abated a bit for a moment, return with a vengeance at his question, and he is about to reach down to pick her up and comfort her when he hears a cry of distress, and out of nowhere, a young woman - who is the picture of what his little charge is probably going to look like when she's grown - begins to run frantically towards them.

"Lily, baby, there you are!"

In a flash, she was no longer holding his fingers in a death grip, and he no longer wonders just how anyone could have managed to lose such a precious treasure when she slips his hold to run to the woman who is obviously her mother.

He practically has to look away at the extent of the love and terror that shines clearly on your face as you, too, kneel before the little girl who launches herself into your arms, wrapping them around her and hugging her tightly to you, your eyes drifting closed on tears of relief, the heart that had stopped the second you'd realized she was missing now clogging your throat painfully.

When you finally stand, leaving Lily on her feet but keeping a firm hold on her hand, the man - who was not a man, you know - comes to stand in front of you, bowing elegantly and saying, "I am Prince Loki, my lady, and as such, I was honor bound to help Princess Lily find you. She is unharmed. We were just beginning to look for you."

Yeah, you'd been here when he'd attacked the city. You know exactly what kind of honor this creep had.

And yet there was no mistaking how tenderly you had seen him treating Lily when you'd first laid eyes on the odd pair - and he continues to do so, smiling benevolently down at the both of you. Although she had run to you to be picked up and hugged and loved on, when you set her down, she drifts back towards him to glom onto his fingers while still holding your hand, too, standing contentedly between the two of you as if it is something she does every day.

He recognizes that look of pure suspicion you're giving him - that was where Lily had gotten it from, no doubt, only her Mother's is even harder for him to bear, for some reason.

You reach down and snatch your daughter's hand from around Loki's fingers then pick her up, holding her away from him on your far hip, putting yourself between her and what you considered to be harm's way - him.

"I'll thank you to keep your homicidal, psycho hands off my daughter." You realize you're probably taking your life in your hands saying that, but you can't keep it in. It was bad enough that she was lost - the idea of her having been found by the likes of him made your blood run even colder.

Instead of looking angry or even slightly insulted at your colorful - and not necessarily inaccurate - description of him, a small, wry smile plays about his lips for a second before disappearing. Loki recognizes the bravery it took for you to say that to him - he can see that you're much more scared of him than your daughter was, although you're doing your best not to show it, and, although it hurts him, he can hardly blame you for the way you feel, or for trying to defend your child from him, although there was no need. You have no idea that he would never have harmed a hair on her darling little head, nor would he ever have allowed anyone else to hurt your diminutive Princess while she was in his care.

He looks slowly from you to your daughter and back, and you think you catch a glimpse of - was that wistfulness? - in his expression, but then it returns to a careful blank as he bows again.

"I shall leave you to your afternoon in the park. Goodbye, Princess Lily," he says, waving and smiling - just barely - at her as he steps away.

Lily whimpers and you turn your head for a second to see to her, but then she tries to lunge out of your arms in what was Loki's direction, but when you turn back around, he's gone as if he'd never been there in the first place.

"Woki?" Lily inquires, her head swiveling around quickly, looking for him. "Woki?" Her repetitions of his name become successively more teary, until she begins to cry at the loss of him, which is something you cannot fathom.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, when you've had a chance to come down from the heart-attack status you were in while she was missing, you start to realize that Loki hadn't done anything wrong, and, according to Lily, who appears to absolutely idolize him, he was her Pwince Chawming. As much as you question - carefully - your little girl about what he had done before you arrived, she would only, steadfastly, say that he wescued her and kept her safe.

And thus her greatest goal in life changed drastically from wanting a horse to desperately wanting to see Pwince Woki again, something you try - and fail miserably - to discourage her from as a highly dangerous - and unlikely, in any event - desire.

Despite what you steadfastly tell your daughter, you find yourself feeing progressively worse about what you'd said to him and how you'd treated him when he'd apparently gone out of his way to take care of your child when you couldn't. You decide that you need to apologize to him and let him know how grateful you are for him having done so, although you have no idea how to go about doing it.

You know that he's with the Avengers now, and figure that that might be the best place to start. But calling the Tower gets you nowhere but trapped in a morass of people who were only too willing to pass you along to someone else, none of whom seems interested in actually helping you.

So, one weekday afternoon that you have off, you decide to go there, and Lily throws a fit when she finds out that that is what you intend to do.

Without her.

You try to firm your resolve, with limited success. You know you not supposed to give in to tantrums, but this wasn't really like that. She's simply sitting there, staring at you accusingly while sobbing in near silence, besides the occasional hiccough and whimper of his name.

But you also know how much W - Loki seems to mean to her, and, against your better judgment, you allow her to come with you, but only after having given her a very stern lecture about being on her very bestest behavior while you're there.

Lily was small and had some developmental delays that made her seem younger than she was, but she was also very smart and she knew exactly how to play her mother, you sigh as you pull her onto your lap. Overall, though, she wasn't as much of a spoiled brat as she might have been - you try to guard quite fiercely against raising a demanding, entitled child, but her health was delicate and your mind is still fresh with the worry of losing her, even if that was when she was first born - it had been a very real threat since she was so premature - you really just want her to be happy.

As soon as you tell her that she's going to be allowed to go, the first thing she does is race to the kitchen table with all of her arts and crafts stuff - which she spreads from hell to breakfast, of course - to make Loki a thank you card like the one you've written in case all you can do is give him a message.

When you get to the Tower, though, and look all that way up it, your resolve falters a little - but Lily isn't going to have that. She tugs and hurls herself forward and struggles to pull you to the door, and you reluctantly let her do so.

There was a big, imposing reception desk in the enormous lobby, and you two wander up to it.

"May I help you?" The thin, severe woman - and severely thin woman - asks imperiously, as if she really has no intention of helping you in the least; her tone leaving no doubt that you are bothering her.

You smile, but receive none in return, then say hesitantly, "I - We - We're here to see Prince Loki."

The stunned look on the receptionist's face is worth the severe discomfort you are feeling. She looks as if you just asked to see your dear friend Hitler.

Apparently Loki didn't get very many visitors, because the next thing you know, several uniformed men surround the both of you, and you pick Lily up as you are herded - none too gently - into an elevator with them.

You aren't given a choice about whether or not you're going to go - there is no way you could bust through the cordon of muscle they present as they surround you.

Despite how terrified you are, you try to keep your head, and note that you are let out on the nineteenth floor, trying to remain alert for any possible ability to escape while not upsetting Lily.

The phrase "This was a bad idea" keeps running through your head. It wasn't turning out at all like you'd expected.

You'd really thought that she'd say he wasn't there or he was busy, and you'd give the receptionist a handwritten thank you note from you and Lily's macaroni, construction paper, crayon, scented marker and finger paint masterpiece - that was her interpretation of the afternoon she'd gotten lost, complete with a disconcertingly cozy last panel of the three of you standing there together, each of you holding her hand and standing much too close together as you did so - for her to give to Loki and you'd be on your way.

Instead, you end up in a windowless room wondering if you are going to be renditioned for having had the audacity to ask to see him - as if they somehow assumed that you were a terrorist because you'd asked to see the man who had led the attack on the city.

The five men who had surrounded you leave you alone in that room until - seconds later - there's a short, polite knock at the door and a tall man with an eye patch enters and smiles down at you.

But that smile didn't reach his eye.

"I am Director Fury. May I ask why you wanted to see Loki, Mrs. . . . ?" he asks in a leading manner.

You ignore his subtle request for your name. "I came here to thank L - Prince Loki for finding my little girl in the park a couple of days ago when she'd slipped away from me."

The man's stunned look was quite revealing. He obviously didn't think the God capable of doing something quite so decent as helping a lost child.

And, to your great shame, you acknowledge to yourself that that was pretty much the way you'd felt, too, at first.

He continues to question you for a few more minutes, and you give him the details of the event but no personal information whatsoever.

In a few very short minutes, though, you hear a ping from the tablet he's put down in front of him, and he reaches over to push a button on the screen, then proceeds to call you by your full name - including your middle, maiden and married names - which you kept after you'd divorced your good for nothing ex because of Lily - as well as the nickname your family uses that is more familiar to you than your real name. He then recites your address, social security number, the names, addresses, and occupations of your ex husband and your close family and friends, your job title, description, as well as salary and tax information obviously gleaned from your tax filing last April.

Just when you open your mouth to take him to task for invading your privacy, the door opens again - this time with no semblance of a knock - and Loki appears, leaving the door open behind him as he glares at Fury, who takes the hint, although he rises slowly, as if he wants to make sure Loki knows he doing so under duress and makes his way out of the room.

Loki immediately turns his attention to the two of you, looking sincerely regretful. "I'm sorry you were brought here, and if you were made to feel afraid in any way I apologize sincerely. I didn't know you were here until a few seconds ago," Loki says immediately, then he gives a slight "oof" as a small bundle of energy hits him just above the knees and wraps her arms around his legs as best she can.

"Woki!" she keeps chanting, stamping her little feet down on top of his boots excitedly until he squats down to her height - although he'll probably always be taller than she was no matter how he pretzeles himself - and Lily flings her arms around his neck without an ounce of her usual reticence with strangers.

As you watch your daughter greet her rescuer with unreserved joy and see his arms wrap carefully around her to hug her tightly, you, on the other hand, feel at least as flustered in his presence as you did that day in the park, only for very different reasons.

But you force yourself to come to stand next to them anyway, something in your heart flip-flopping painfully at the sight of him cuddling her to him, those disturbingly bright green eyes closing slowly as he rubs his big hand up and down her back soothingly for a long moment, then, as if suddenly remembering where he was, he puts her back down on her feet, a bit away from him despite the fact that she was doing her best to crawl back up him and into his arms, saying, with a deep nod of his head that passed for a bow, "I am delighted to see you again, Princess Lily."

This distracts Lily into curtsying for him as it had before, and your breath is cruelly ripped from your body at the bright smile that her antics put on his face, somehow intuiting that that kind of response is highly unusual for him.

And there he stands, towering over you, and you don't know where to look, at first, feeling awkward, like a teenager on her first real date, when, of course, that's certainly not how you want to feel around a being such as him.

Or how you're supposed to want to feel, anyway.

But you couldn't possibly want him - that had to qualify as a masochistic - perhaps even suicidal - pursuit.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" he asks, staring down at you in a way that makes you want to either melt into the floor or into him, and you're horrified to realize that you're not at all sure which you would choose at this moment.

You clear your throat and force yourself to meet his eyes, hoping the extent of your nervousness - which is frighteningly close to fainting - doesn't show. "I - I just wanted to apologize to you for how I acted towards you when we met in the park. All I can say in my defense is that I was mindless with fear at having lost her and feeling a bit overprotective in realizing that you were the one who found her."

The corners of his lips turn up a bit, and you get the impression that that is what passes for a smile with him. "No apology is necessary. I cannot imagine how terrified you must've been to have had her disappear on you. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Your uneasiness grows in leaps and bounds, despite his surprisingly gentlemanly demeanor, but you intended to do what you set out to do before beating a hasty retreat to the safety of your own home, where you fully expect to have a complete mental breakdown upon arrival.

"Well, I just wanted to say thank you very much for taking care of her until I got there."

Loki reaches out and puts his hand on the top of Lily's head, gently ruffling her curls. "It was truly my pleasure to look after her."

Your thank you reminds Lily of her own desire to thank her hero, so she bolts from the two of you to the table, where her artwork is lying, bringing it back to show Loki, although she's struck suddenly shy a few steps away from him, almost hiding behind you, surprisingly.

Loki drops into a squat immediately upon seeing her hesitance as she clings to you.

"Is that for me, my darling princess?" he asks softly, tilting his head just a bit to one side.

She nods, self-soothing fingers in her mouth, but seems in no hurry to hand over the picture, even when you squat, too, and she moves between your legs and into your arms where she feels safest.

Loki frowns suddenly, whispering exaggeratedly as if it was a State secret, "Oh dear. Did you forget your tiara today, little love?"

Lily looks up, as if she could see how bereft she was of her favorite part of her favorite costume by doing so.

When she - and you - look back, though, he's holding one, a much more elaborate one than any she owns.

"Would you like me to crown you, Princess Lily?" Loki asks, holding the tiara a little ways out in front of him, in both hands, as if it was, indeed, a crown.

You had to laugh at just how quickly and whole heartedly she abandons you for the promise of a new set of sparkly jewels, which Loki holds over her head for a moment, giving you a mischievous look, then turning back to the little girl, saying soft words in a language you didn't think originated on this planet as he makes a small ceremony out of putting the tiara on her head.

And, as it nestles there, her every day outfit of jeans with appliqué butterflies that are reflected on the girlie pink t-shirt transforms into one of a green fairy princess - Tinkerbell without the sexuality - with big glittering green wings, a dress with a pretty, floaty skirt that falls like feathers from her waist, and outrageously glittery green shoes with tiny heels, rather like the emerald equivalent of Dorothy's ruby slippers.

"Mumma!" she squeals, fit to pierce the adults' ear drums. "Wook what Woki did for meeeeeee!"

You know you should object to it - all of it - but you couldn't possibly be that heartless, which you kind of think is exactly what he's counting on when you exchange looks over her head - his is definitely mischievous and yours is conciliatory.

Lily had been through a lot in her young life. She deserves every bit of joy you can manage to eek out for her, and if this man - this God - seems only too happy to contribute, then why not let him.

At least for the time being.

And having a God as a friend couldn't be that bad a thing, could it? Especially since this one seemed to dote on her and was surprisingly tame - so far.

"Lills, why don't you show Loki your picture before you forget about it? You worked awfully hard on it and it came out so well."

Sometimes she could be almost too thoughtful a child, and somehow she senses the import of this situation, presenting her project to him seriously - and with no remnants of tentativeness - as she stands between his legs, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her protectively close to him as she awaits his reaction to her efforts, suddenly remembering to say what her Mom had told her she should say to Loki.

You can barely hear it because she's bending her little body to speak directly into the big God's ear.

"Fank you for saving me, Woki. I wub you."

She throws herself against him and her arms finding their way to his neck, which he lowers a bit for her to reach up to and hang off of, again with no reservation, as if she feels completely secure in the knowledge that he would never hurt her or let her be hurt, despite her attack of shyness a few moments ago.

You wish you had as much certainty as she did about that, but you don't, and that's that.

"Thank you very much for this, Princess. It's beautiful, and I shall treasure it always. Can you tell me what it is?"

You stand there, unable to tear your eyes away from the two of them, hearing how tenderly he speaks to her, how he listens to her and asks questions of her that prove he's doing just that, making her laugh, and eventually showing her a very easy magic trick that has her eyes lighting up.

You can't remember the last time you saw her this happy, and didn't want it to end. You could very willingly stay here the rest of your life with the Devil himself if she'd just keep smiling like that.

And you kind of wonder if you aren't already doing just that.

But it's not to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Seconds later, a woman you recognize as Black Widow burst into the room, and she's followed quickly by the rest of the Avengers, including Loki's brother.

Lily freezes a bit at all of the strangers who were standing around and staring at her and Loki, cringing her little body against him - not bothering to look to you for protection, but looking for and finding it with him. You see his arms close around her as he stands, taking her with him and holding her against his chest.

"Princess Lily," he says, patting her leg comfortingly, "I would like to present to you to my - " he hesitates just a second there - "my friends. This is Dr. Banner," he starts with the one of them that looks the most innocuous . . . currently.

Bruce surprises him - and you - by bowing low to the child with a dramatic flourish of his arm. "I am honored to meet you, Princess Lily."

This delights her, of course - the idea of being recognized by strangers as the Princess she is.

And the rest of them follow suit - Thor, Captain America, who comes forward to kiss the Princess's hand - which makes her giggle and blush and tuck her head against Loki's neck as she does so - Black Widow - who compliments her on her outfit and gets a huge smile and a peck on her cheek as her reward - Hawkeye, and then Tony Stark, who grabs her suddenly out of Loki's arms and tries to fly her around, but she's having none of it, and spends the entire time screaming for Loki, her arms extended out to him, until Tony gives up and hands her back, quipping, "No accounting for taste."

"WOKI!" Lily chides loudly, glaring fiercely at him as he walks away, and making everyone laugh.

"Let's find another room to meet in that's not quite so chock full o' royalty, guys," Tony says, leading the parade out of the room.

You're figuring that this is a natural conclusion to the visit, so you start to say, "Well, I guess we'd better let you go -"

But, at the same time, he comes out with, "Would you like to see my rooms?" not realizing how overt it sounded before it explodes out of his mouth.

"I do, I do, I do!" Lily singsongs.

Think of a reason not to! Think of a reason NOT to! THINK of a REASON NOT TO!

While you're engaging in this existential little discussion with yourself and losing badly, he's already over his embarrassment and is walking away with Lily in his arms - and then on his shoulders.

You follow after him more so that you can keep track of your child than because you want to.

At least, that's what you tell yourself, anyway.

The three of you arrive at a door several floors away and he opens it for you to precede him into the room, then ducks down a bit so that Lily's head isn't cracked open by the low hanging door frame as they enter.

Then he reaches up and plucks her from his shoulders - grimacing at the fact that she's got a couple hunks of his hair in her hands - like reins - that he is no longer going to own by the time those little sparkly feet hit the floor and take off at a run.

But you put the kibosh to that right quick. "Lily Grace Honor, when we're guests in someone's house, do we run around hell bent for leather, poking our little noses into places they don't belong?" you scold automatically, knowing Loki's watching you intently, wearing a smile that looks innocent enough but still makes you shiver.

Upon hearing all three of her first names, Lily stops dead in her tracks, mid-full-barrel-run, with her leg up in the air mid-stride, as if she's playing Freeze Tag. "No, Mumma," she says gravely, shaking her head exaggeratedly at her own regretful behavior.

"And where do Princesses stay?"

"Within your wine of sight"

"Excellent. And what do Mumma's think of their little girls?" you ask, completing your end of the little ritual.

"THEY WUB THEM!" she shrieks, dancing excitedly over to you, where you hug her very exaggeratedly and smother her in loud smooches.

"You know," you hunker down and stage whisper into her ear, "you could prolly ask our host if he would give you the nickel tour. I'm thinking the odds are pretty good that he will . . . "

You glace up at Loki and almost lose yourself. You've caught him in a rare, unguarded moment, thumb under his chin, index finger over those sensual lips, watching the two of you with fierce intensity and a longing so painfully obvious that your chest begins to hurt.

Lily breaks the moment by sidling over to him, practically batting her eyelashes at him coquettishly as she asks him for a tour, mimicking her mother's tone and verbiage exactly.

You watch Loki doing his best to suppress his desire to laugh - not wanting the little girl to think that he's laughing at her - as he picks her up and settles her onto his hip, turning to you. "Is Mum coming too?"

"Hell, yes - how many chances will I have in this lifetime to see the inside of a God's flat?" You are trying to keep it light, but he doesn't look any too pleased at what you said, although you aren't sure why.

It is a huge place - probably easily four times the size of your little apartment - with all of the latest gadgets and automatic everything, probably courtesy of Mr. Stark.

Lily, of course, loves every single part of it, and her boundless enthusiasm is hard to suppress. Loki doesn't seem as if he'd be an ally in your trying to do so, so you decide not to worry about it.

After all, he was a God. If she broke something, you were pretty sure he could fix it, and he'd already told you he feels protective towards her.

When it comes to his bedroom, Lily zooms in - past Loki - but you hang back, not stepping past the door jam, really, just leaning in, as if it might be too dangerous for you just to be in a room with him that also contains a bed.

But then you decide you're being silly - there was no way that Loki could feel like that about you, anyway. What were you worrying about? It was a completely ridiculous idea, so why grant it any power?

So you do end up in his bedroom, noting almost dispassionately how tastefully it's done - and you're fine, until you notice the enormous size of the bed. Your eyes light there and it's almost as if you're entire brain is sucked into it. The light - which was bright enough when you entered - seemed to be fading, and, although you could hear Loki talking to your daughter, he seemed to have moved a rather long distance away -

The next thing you knew, you come awake behind closed eyelids, but you can hear Loki murmuring to someone.

Lily.

"Mumma's sick?" she asks plaintively.

"Something like that, little one. She just really didn't feel very well all of a sudden, and couldn't stand up any more on her own. But she'll be back very soon and be right as rain, I promise you. And meanwhile, you are safe as houses with me. A Prince always protects a Princess, and you - and your mother - are both extra special Princesses."

You preen internally at the idea of being an "extra special Princess", if a too close to middle aged one, hearing Lily ask the same question another three times, and Loki's quiet, patient replies to each one. He never seems angry about having to repeat himself in the least, in fact you can hear him bussing her loudly every once in a while, which makes her giggle.

You flutter your eyelashes and then open your eyes slowly, finding the two of them hovering over you expectantly.

"I fainted?"

They both nod sagely at you.

"Oh, dear God, I'm so sorry."

"Please don't be, although you gave me - us - quite a scare." He let go of Lily, who then burrows under the covers with you - of what had to be the very bed that had given you the vapors in the first place.

And Loki apparently doesn't miss a trick.

"I think it was my bed that did it - I had it specially made. But that's not the usual asset of mine at which females have been known to faint . . ." He gives you an unrepentant grin.

You couldn't help it. You hope he's teasing, because you'd hate to anger him, but you snort derisively.

And he laughs.

So did you, amidst snickers, as you sit up, then lay back down again quickly at the stomach tumbling dizziness that washes over you.

If you weren't absolutely sure you weren't pregnant . . .

But, if you were, then there would have to be a star in the East, because between work and Lily, your social life consisted of going to the park, taking Lily to dance and peewee soccer, and collapsing on your couch each night to fall asleep in front of the TV at about nine - if that late.

"Are you all right?" Loki asks, looking quite concerned.

"Fine. Fine," you lie baldly. The room is spinning dangerously around you, and every time you lift your head, you feel nauseous.

And Loki seems to have some sort of built in bullshit detector, because he isn't having any of what you are telling him.

Giving you a surprisingly empathetic look that says he knows how horrible you feel, although you seriously doubt he does, he stands, saying, "Princess Lily, I want you to listen to me as your Prince and do exactly as I say."

You can't help but be impressed when Lily sits up immediately, scrambling out from under the covers to stand next to him, looking up at him.

How did he do that - command instantaneous obedience from your sometimes stubborn cuss of a little girl?

He smiles gently down at her, cupping her cheek in his hand and saying, "I want you to go into the living room for a moment and sit quietly on the couch. I need to speak to your Mommy for a moment, and then I will come to you and I will show you some more magic. Would you like that?"

She is already nodding and you are wondering if he put a spell on her to get her to be so cooperative.

"That's my good girl. Now, tell me what I just asked of you."

Lily repeats his instructions back to him word for word - mimicking his tone, too, and not badly at all, making him smile. "I knew you were a smart Princess," he praises. "But if I find you've disobeyed me, there will be no magic."

Lily nodded solemnly up at him.

"Now go do as you are told, little love."

His tone doesn't leave room for an argument, and she doesn't give him one, giving him a kiss instead because he leans down and points to a spot on his cheek, and getting her bottom patted encouragingly as she leaves, although she does slow down and turn around, locking eyes with you as she backs out of sight around the door jam.

If you didn't feel like shit at the moment, you'd make him tell you his secret.

But now his considerable attention has turned to you. "You do not look like you feel at all well," he says, frowning down at you.

"Got it in one."

"Got what?" he asks, confused.

"Just an expression."

"Oh. One with which I am unfortunately not familiar."

"Don't worry about it. Just call me a cab. I'll come get my car from the parking lot later. I don't think I could drive."

"And I don't think you should move," he says, sounding terribly autocratic, which is fine for your daughter, but you don't much appreciate it.

So you struggle to get up again, and realize immediately that that's pretty much an impossibility.

But you can't stay here, can you?

The look on Loki's face hasn't changed much since he gave your daughter her marching orders.

"I think you should spend the night here. I'll ask Dr. Banner to come examine you."

Even though you're rapidly beginning to feel so horrible that dying might be a viable option to relieve your misery, your first thought is still, BUT THERE'S ONLY ONE BEDROOM.

"No, thank you, but -" You make another abortive attempt to get up, to find that the only thing you've managed to do is to fling yourself right off the side of the bed in the most embarrassing, uncoordinated, ungainly fashion - and, luckily - right into his arms.

You are resolutely tucked back in as you being to shake with chills.

Loki rises - all seven or so feet of him, or it seems that way to you at the moment, anyway. You've never felt quite so small in your life. "You stay right here. I'll watch Lily. I'm going to get her a snack, and locate Dr. Banner."

You are horrified to realize, too, that he's using the exact same firm tone of voice with you as he had with Lily.

"Stop talking to me as if I'm a four years old!" you fume, suddenly too weak to make it sound like you have much conviction, unfortunately.

But he just gives you his broad, trickster's smile, leaning over you, planting a hand on the bed beside your head, and one by your hip, neatly trapping you. "Do I need to have you repeat my orders back to me?" he asks, his beautiful face inches from yours.

You're less intimidated by him than you might be if you weren't in the midst of dying, so you frown up at him, but refuse to answer.

But Loki shakes his head, answering his own question. "No, you're a smart Princess, too, my lady. Smart enough to realize that the consequences of disobedience for you would be much different - and much more serious because you are an adult - than for Miss Lily. You rest."

He leaves you then - stealing a kiss so quickly you're not even sure he did it - before making his way into the living room to deal with your daughter, while you lie on the bed, becoming rapidly sicker and sicker, until you can feel yourself losing consciousness again, which you'll take to throwing up all over Loki's gorgeous bed, which you end up doing later, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time you wake up, Loki's is not the only concerned face you see - Dr. Banner is hovering over you, too.

"There you are. Not feeling any too good, huh?"

You shake your head, but stop that shit double quick when your stomach rises into your throat. "Lily had it a few days ago. Unfortunately, when I get seriously sick to my stomach, I tend to faint."

The doctor nodded. "This kind of flu thing is going around. I'm going to give you some compazine, which should help keep you from getting sick -"

Too late.

Luckily, you'd already procured a waste basket, and although you are mortified beyond belief to be throwing up in front of Loki and the Doctor, you didn't have much choice. At least it seemed to be a magic one - no matter how many times you availed yourself of it, it remained always clean.

When you are done, Loki twists his hand, producing a glass of ice chips out of thin air, which he then gives to you.

"I would say no solid food for a while - the stomach thing will pass quickly, I promise, and the shot is going to help. Ice chips to keep you hydrated as much as possible, a small glass of flat ginger ale or a popsicle if you can keep it down, or veggie broth, again, only if you can keep it down, but mostly just rest until you recover." He smiles at you. "No chasing after that little firecracker of yours for a day or two. You should be feeling better by tomorrow night, but I'll drop by again then to make sure you are."

You want to thank the doctor before he leaves, but you don't have the energy to do so, and besides, Loki is already following him out, and thanking him at least as profusely as you would.

"Gotta go home," you whisper-moan, but make no move to do anything but shiver and huddle further under the covers. "Where's Lily?"

Loki sits next to you on the bed, although you try to scoot away, he won't let you, placing a hand on the mattress next to your waist on the far side.

Stopping you is depressingly easy for him at the moment, you realize.

Then you remember who and what he is, and that it's would always be depressingly easy for him.

"But I don't want to make you sick."

Loki shakes his head. "I am not Midgardian, so I can't catch your illnesses. Have no fear of that on my account, not that I would have allowed the possibility to deter me in the least, regardless. And to answer your question," he says, fluffing your pillows and handing you the glass so you can take another ice chip, "Lily is in the living room playing with Natasha and Hawkeye. One is trying to teach her the crossbow and the other is trying to teach her krav maga. Don't ask me which is which."

You smile weakly, knowing you should be more worried than you are about Lily and crossbows and martial arts, but you just can't manage it. "But dinner -"

"She will eat with me."

"But where's she going to sleep? If she's not in bed by seven thirty, she's going to have a meltdown tomorrow," you pant agitatedly.

Loki seems completely undaunted at that prospect. "Then I shall endeavor to teach her that tantrums are not a viable option when trying to get your way."

You're not sure you like the sound of that and the words escape your mouth before you can think about how smart it's probably not to say them. "You won't - you wouldn't -"

Loki leans over you - getting much too close to you for your comfort - sick or not.

"I would throw myself into the sun rather than allow a single hair on her - or your - head to be harmed by anyone, least of all myself. Please do not concern yourself about Lily. I will keep her fed, occupied and as happy as I possibly can while you rest and recover."

"But there's only the one bedroom in this place -" You know you're whining, but can't seem to stop.

Loki smiles down at you. "And do you think I cannot create the ultimate bedroom for her with a thought? And even if, for some reason, I couldn't, she could sleep on the couch or on my lap or we could build her a bed with cushions and blankets on the floor . . . Please try to relax and just recover. I will take care of her - of the both of you."

You want to bristle at that comment, but don't have the energy.

And worse than that, he was right. He was already doing that.

"What about you, though? Where'll you sleep?"

There's still a soft smile on his face when he answers, "I require much less sleep than you do. I will occupy myself with other things and keep a watchful eye on the two of you."

You don't want to - and can't really even begin to - think about just what that might entail. "I'm so sorry for coming here and getting sick all over you and imposing on you like this . . . " You're mortified to realize that you're crying, but you feel so horrid on so many levels that you can't stop it.

Loki wipes your tears away with his thumb, looking horrified that you are this upset unnecessarily. "Please do not trouble yourself about that. Lily is a true delight, and I am enjoying the company, although I'll enjoy it more when you feel better and can join us. Dr. Banner said that if you take it easy for a day or so, you should be able to go home the day after tomorrow."

That long? you want to scream, but you're too weak to do so.

Loki straightens, making sure you have water, ice chips that never seemed to melt, and the somehow sparkling clean wastebasket all within easy reach before leaving. "If you need me for anything, all you need do is think of me and I will come. Sleep, if you can, but do not get out of my bed unassisted." He gives you a very intent look of warning. "If you need to get up for any reason, summon me first and I will help you."

Of course he had to call it "his" bed, as if you weren't reminded of that fact - that you ended up in the very bed you were trying to avoid, however platonically - every time you looked around.

A God helping you get to the toilet? You don't think so.

But Loki can apparently read you like a book, raising an eyebrow as he looks sternly down at you, making your eyes fly nervously from his, as if he'd already caught you disobeying him.

"I can see from whom Lily gets her stubborn temperament. Like mother, like daughter." He sits back down, slowly, carefully, so as not to jostle you, then leans forward, neatly trapping your arms at your sides merely by placing his hands right next to your elbows on the bed. "But consider this, my lady. I am of a mind that you need tending to just as much - if not more - than your daughter does, and I do not bluff. Ever. I do not _need_ to bluff. When I warned you earlier that the consequences of disobedience for you would be much more serious than for Lily, I meant, to put it plainly, that I won't hesitate to put you over my knee and spank you for doing so."

It shouldn't have been the first protest that came to mind, but it flies out of your mouth anyway. "You wouldn't spank me when I'm sick," you contend, with more conviction and more bravely than you really feel, as if appearing confident about it in the face of his potential ire will convince him to do as you prefer.

In response, Loki nods slightly, smiling with just enough of a touch of evil to make you shiver - and this time not because you're sick.

"You are absolutely right - I could never add to your misery in any way. But unfortunately for you I have a very good memory for things such as this and will simply make it a point to address it with you later, when you're feeling better, before I allow you to leave." Then he leans down, perilously close to you, whispering huskily, "I would never be so neglectful as to forget when an adult Princess is in need of punishing" - his lowers his voice to a frighteningly intimate level "- _or_ when an she's is in need of pleasuring."

How is it that he can make you feel so hot when you're half dead like this? What would it be like if he said something like that to you when you were actually alive?

He rises to stand by your bed again, gazing down at you with a look on his face that you are ashamed to realize is making you even wetter, despite how wretched you are feeling.

"And, having informed you of my intentions," he continues, "if I find you've gotten up without my assistance - and I _will_ know if you have - I shall take it as a sign that you _want_ me to spank you, and will act accordingly." Then he leans down and tucks you in, kissing your forehead then your lips, quickly, before you have a chance to protest, and heading for the door.

The whole concept of what he was saying hit you're a little late.

Spank you?

Spank you!

He can't possibly mean to spank you - despite what he'd out and out said - twice - already.

Those thoughts run rampant through your mind, but the compazine is making you sleepy, and you find that you can't keep your eyes open another moment despite your outrage - feigned or otherwise - at his stated intentions.

The next time you awaken, you simply _have_ to go to the bathroom, and you scramble - in slow motion - to the edge of the bed, but just before your toes would have touched the floor, you remember his threat and automatically retract your foot, despite the fact that you also automatically chasten yourself for having done so.

But your toes still do not touch the floor.

Almost as soon as it happens though - as soon as you think of him - there is a soft knock at the door, and Loki comes in.

"May I be of assistance?"

"Fu - frig no," you say defiantly, determined to stand on your own. You are feeling the slightest bit better, and the sooner you can get yourself well, the sooner you and Lily can leave.

You aren't quite sure why it was so important to you that you stay here for as short a period of time as possible; you just know it is.

The moment your feet touch the plush, luxurious carpet, he is there beside you, not quite touching you but managing to make you feel safely surrounded somehow anyway, knowing without him having to say anything that if you fall or stumble, you will be caught well before you reach the carpet. It takes you a minute to straighten, and your first steps are somewhat tentative, but you make it to the bathroom on your own, where you can see his reluctance to let you put a door between the two of you when you close it in his face.

When you reopen it, he isn't there, until you take your first step, then he again appears magically beside you, guiding you back towards the bed.

But you try to stop, not getting very far with your efforts. "Where's Lily? I'd like to see her."

"The Princess Lily is tucked into bed - I was just going to tell her a bedtime story."

You look up at him, fairly alarmed, and redouble your efforts to try to turn yourself around to head towards the door rather than the bed. "Jesus, what time is it?"

"It's nine o'clock." You had slept - among other less appealing things - the day away.

"And she's just getting to bed?!"

"I told you that I would deal with any consequences a later bedtime might incur."

You are now determinedly shuffling away from the bed, or you would be if he'd stop determinedly herding you in the other direction. "I have to see her before she goes to sleep."

Loki simply puts an arm out in front of you and catches you in it. "You will do nothing of the sort. You can barely stand. You need to rest."

When your eyes meet this time, you look stricken, your eyes filled with tears that are a direct reflection of both how atrocious you're starting to feel again and how that only serves to amplify your nearly obsessive superstition about completing her bedtime ritual.

"You don't understand. Since the day she was born, through all of that time in the neonatal unit and then NICU when she got sick with other things, I have never once not tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and sung a particular lullaby to her."

If you were at full strength, you would have done anything you could not to cry in front of him. But one blink and those tears overflow down your cheeks, your sobs breaking Loki's heart - and his will to get you back into bed - in the process.

You are unprepared for his response, however.

He very carefully, very gently lifts you into his arms, and takes you to Lily, who is in a bedroom that you know didn't exist before, and definitely wasn't on the tour he'd given you. It was, as he'd said it would be, the ultimate little girl bedroom - basically pink overload, with touches of his trademark green occasionally - a big canopied, butterfly shaped bed literally covered in stuffies, toys littering the floor, and your little girl reigning supreme over all of it, tucked under a fluffy pink comforter while leaning back against stacks of pink and green pillows, yet another tiara you know she doesn't own perched atop her head, awaiting her story like a true Princess, in style and comfort.

You just hope she won't get too used to living like this. Her room in your apartment - which was, granted, pretty darned full of stuffies and toys, although nowhere near as nicely appointed - is going to be quite the culture shock tomorrow, when you return home.

When she sees you, Lily squees, "MUMMA!" and you begin to feel just the slightest - tiniest - bit less jealous of Loki.

But not much.

She makes as if to get out of bed and run over to him as he is carrying you towards her, but Loki says softly, "Lily, do not get out of bed." Again, you are stunned - and not a little annoyed - at how well she obeys him, moving back into the position she was in to wait for him to bring you to her.

But Loki isn't done. "The two of you are, from this moment forward, under orders from this moment henceforth not to get out of bed once I've put you in it. Do you understand?"

Lily nods her head immediately, but - even though you can't imagine another instance in which him telling you to stay in bed will ever arise - you manage a depressingly dry raspberry as he sets you down to lie on your side on the bed next to Lily, who immediately launches into a recitation of all of the neat things she'd been doing while you were busy dying.

"Mumma, I gotta fight wiff Hawkeye and shoot awwows wiff Bwack Widow an' For let me hol' his hammew - but he hewped a liddle - an' Dr. Bannew gaved me a ste - steff -" She looks at Loki, then at you, but you both let her work the word out herself " - steffiscope of my own, 'n Woki made me a spawkling hamburger for dinnew an' I ated evwy bit of it!"

That idea of a sparkly hamburger nearly has you retching right there, although it was a rarity for her fussy little self to eat all of anything that wasn't a Mc-something, a hot dog, or Kraft mac and cheese, so the Prince has actually done quite well with her, you reluctantly admit to yourself.

"'N then Woki showed me kina pitcherws in my head of his pawace on Asgawd. It's so beautifuw, Mumma - an' he said we can go thewe wiff him any time we wanna!"

"That's very generous of him, my lovely Lily." You close your eyes and take a deep breath, your depleted reserves of energy starting to fade fast. You feel his hand on your shoulder, as if he's going to gather you up and put you to bed, much as he has Lily, but you straighten through sheer strength of will and shrug it off. "But it's well past someone's bedtime."

She pouts, lips pooching out comically. "I know."

"Why don't you snuggle down under the covers, and I'll sing your special song, and you can go to sleep."

"Can Woki be over hewe, pwease, Mumma, whiwe you sing?" She pats the bed next to her other side, looking at you expectantly.

You heartily wish she hadn't asked that, but you don't have enough brain function at the moment to come up with a reason why he can't. And Loki hasn't moved, as if he's waiting for your permission to do as your little girl has asked. "Sure, honey, if he doesn't mind my feeble warbling."

But he's there before you've finished your sentence, Lily comfortably ensconced between the two of you - as if this was a ritual you'd performed together many times before.

Lily snuggles down under the comforter, unable to stop a huge yawn.

You hesitate for only a second - deliberately not looking at Loki, although he's so dammed big his presence so close to you is very hard to ignore - before drawing a full breath and singing a slow, soothing version of _"You Are My Sunshine"_ to her.

Your hand finds Lily's forehead as it always does, soothingly brushing the hair away from it while you sing, worrying less and less about being heard by Loki and just enjoying watching the lilting words work their own brand of magic as she slips into dreamland just as you finish the final notes, then kiss her on the cheek.

"Good night, my dearest baby girl."

Seeing that both you and your voice are fading, Loki dares to kiss her other cheek and whisper his good night to her, then moves off the bed to come around and gather you into his arms again.

"I can walk," you protest, although at this point you're not at all sure you can and your arms slip around his strong neck anyway.

"I know," he breathes warmly against your scalp, "but I enjoy the feel of you in my arms, you see. This is a wonderful excuse to hold you." He delivers you back to his bed, slipping you under the covers, then sitting down at your side, facing you.

Not wanting it to be awkward, but unable to find a way that it would be anything but, you say what's been on your mind since you began to feel a little better. "Thank you so much for taking care of me - us - like this. You've gone above and beyond -"

"Hush." His hand captures yours where it lies on your tummy. "Thank you for being brave enough to come here to thank me for 'wescuwing' Lily." His lips curl into a smile as he uses her word for it, pronouncing it as she did, but you sensed no malice in it but rather that he is quite charmed by her speech patterns, and everything else about her. "I have a feeling that it's ending up being the other way 'round. And she's at least as precious as her mother is."

You could feel your face growing redder by the second as he chuckles deeply.

"And you're even more beautiful when you blush, if that's possible."

"Now _you_ hush. Put your silver tongue back into its holster, because I ain't buying any of what you're selling."

He gives you a look that says he's filing this conversation away to take up with you later, when you're not sick.

"It was very fortuitous that you were here when you became ill. I shudder to think what might have happened if you were alone with Lily."

"I have friends who would help - they're very good to me."

"You're very easy to be good to." He grins at your discomfort at his compliment, then frowns a bit, asking solicitously, "Do you think you might be able to keep something down? How about some ginger ale? Or vegetable broth?"

You shake your head at his suggestions - at least your stomach's not roiling at the thought, but it's not too eager, either.

Loki, however, looks dubious. "You haven't eaten in a while - why don't you try some broth? Even if we see it again, at least it's something in there. We need to get some kind of nutrition into you. You certainly don't need to get any skinnier than you already are - "

Your snort is loud and distinctly crass, but the look he gives you makes you wish you had suppressed the urge to do so. It was so dommish that - even in your diminished state - you can feel yourself responding to it in the most inappropriate of ways.

You expect that he's going to leave you to get the broth, but he just holds his hand up and a small mug appears, but you close your mouth tightly, rebelliously, as he holds it out to you.

"No," you say through clenched teeth.

His eyes narrow just slightly, which is more than enough to convince you, and all he says, in a voice that is all the more threatening for its placidity, "Imagine all the creative ways at my disposal to get you to open your m -"

You take the mug from him with a searing glare that just makes his self-satisfied grin even bigger.

"Small sips," he warns.

Like you were going to gulp it all down.

Your first tiny swallow is very tentative, but then - if you weren't so deathly ill - you realize that this is one of the best broths you've ever tasted.

But still, you only take about three small sips - each little more than wetting your lips - before he puts his hand out for it.

It then disappears from whence it came, you suppose, and he arranges the pillows gently around you so that you have no choice but to lie flat.

"In what position do you usually sleep?" he asks.

Surprised by the question, you reply automatically, "Uh, on my left side."

"Well, why don't you get into that position and we'll see if we can get you back to sleep."

"I don't wanna -" you stop immediately as you hear Lily's words leaving your mouth, and Loki is grinning down at you like an idiot, chuckling softly.

"Shall I sing you a lullaby? I'd be glad to sing you an Asgardian one, although my feeble attempt wouldn't hold a candle to yours, I can promise you."

You don't know what to say to that.

"Roll onto your side, please, Princess."

Although the words are quietly said, you get the distinct feeling that his "please" was less than genuine, and that if you didn't do as he asked, you'd soon find yourself in that position anyway.

So you decide to avoid the hassle and just do as he asks, which is indicative of just how horrible you are feeling rather than arguing with him at his high-handedness.

Besides, how could you defy a man who calls you Princess and seems to mean it?

You feel the mattress depress with his weight as he stretches his long self out behind you, not touching you at all at first, just lying there, making you more and more nervous.

When he speaks, his voice wends its way into your brain as if his mouth is at both of your ears at the same time. "I want to thank you for allowing me to participate in your bedtime ritual. It was wonderfully profound and loving. Thank you for sharing it with me." In a way that you might say was almost calculated, his hands find your back at the same time and begin to massage very slowly and very gently, as if you're quite breakable to him, and you suppose the truth is that you are.

And it feels good. _Obscenely_ good. You're sick and exhausted and you've used and re-re-re-used muscles in the past few hours that you hadn't heard from since the last time you were ill, and they were all complaining loudly about the sudden, severe workout. But his hands were truly magical, and they were scrupulously on task, too. He did not try to cop any feels at all - and you kept trying to tell yourself that you should be happy about that.

But you weren't, not really, although you heartily wish you were.

Especially since even his carefully neutral touch was more than enough to ignite feelings you wish it didn't.

Your idyll is spoiled, though, when suddenly gentle fingers also begin to stroke your face.

From the front.

You open your eyes in panic and he is smiling reassuringly back at you.

But you can still feel that he's lying behind you at the same time.

"Wha - ?!" You try to sit up in alarm, but neither of him will allow it, and you begin to try to back-peddle away from the Loki that's in front of you, ending up crowding your backside up against the front of the real Loki. "No, I - don't touch me!"

The doppelganger fades instantly in front of your eyes, and Loki stops massaging entirely to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you carefully. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just a duplicate of me - a part of me, if you will."

"It's just . . . too creepy for me to deal with at the moment. I'm sorry," you say, settling back down a little warily as he continues to hold you tightly.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would frighten you. That's the last thing I would ever want to do."

You move a bit away from him and he allows it - and you know that that is exactly the situation - that he's allowing you to - but choose not to think about that too much at the moment. His hands are back, at the exact spots that were aching the most, and although you know you should tell him to stop, you didn't have the gumption to do it. It feels too damned good, and soon you are relaxing into sleep, your last realization being of someone pressing a soft kiss just below your ear and whispering a soft, "Good night, Princess."


	5. Chapter 5

"What do we have here?" Loki asks much too sternly when he knocks the next morning and very quickly enters the room, holding a small, pink breakfast tray that you know isn't for you.

And catching you standing in the middle of his room, furtively searching for the rest of your clothes before your energy gives out. You'd been in a pair of a Avengers pajamas that weren't yours - and studiously avoiding wondering how you ended up that way - for much too long now and you were feeling well enough at the moment - well, sort of - that you definitely want to get dressed and get out of this place.

Not that you were having any luck, and him finding you like this was even more bad luck.

Your eyes fly to his as he stands there with his chin inclined disapprovingly at you, but before he can begin to scold you, a little pink blur dashes past him to you and you bend down to catch her up in your arms - realizing immediately that you shouldn't have done that and sinking down to your knees less out of choice than necessity, hoping Loki doesn't notice that you didn't have much control over doing so.

But he's too damned observant not to, and you see him take a step towards you, but then, when you rally, and he stays put, although you sense his severe reluctance to do so.

"There's my Lills!" you greet her with as much enthusiasm as you can muster, hugging her and the big stuffed dog she's clutching under her arm, holding them both tight to you.

Loki stands there, watching and waiting benevolently as usual, until the hug ends and he says very calmly, but with appropriate seriousness, "Lily Grace, come to me, please."

Lily - like you - knows exactly what she's done to cause him to use that tone with her.

It's in your mind to stop him from correcting her, but you're curious as to how he will handle it, so you don't say anything as she withdraws from you slowly to shuffle unenthusiastically over to stand in front of the big God, who immediately squats down before her, taking her two tiny hands into his own enormous ones. And although you can see that she tries, once, to pull away, he holds her gently in place before him.

Her head is bowed already, but you can hear him whisper softly, "Look at me, little Lily."

When she raises her eyes to his, you can see the tears on her face and hear her sniffle.

Loki brushes them gently away, then reclaims her hand. "There's no need for tears, my darling girl. Do I seem mad or angry at you?"

Lily shakes her head exaggeratedly, and is rewarded by a small but genuine smile.

"That's right, because I'm not mad or angry with you at all. But you did do something you were expressly told not to do, didn't you?" His voice is calm and soft, but quite firm.

Much smaller nods.

"And what was that, my angel?" he coaxes tenderly.

She glances over at you then back at him, perfectly willing to throw you under the bus to save herself. "But Mumma got outta bed -"

He interrupts gently, "But it's not your Mama that I'm speaking to, is it?" You don't know where he got it from, but you love his European pronunciation, which accents the last syllable of "Ma _ma_ ".

"No."

He turns to give you a scathing look that has you biting your lip. "I shall deal with your Mother's disobedience later."

That sentence, which sounded like entirely too much of a threatening promise, and you know is more for your ears than hers, sends an unwanted tingle through you that has nothing to do with fear.

He turns back to his tiny Princess. "Right now, I'm talking to you about your behavior, which is the only kind that you can control."

He waits a few patient beats for Lily to answer his question, and eventually, head hung low, she comes out with the tearful confession, "I shoulda stayed in bed whewe you tole me to stay."

Loki kisses the backs of each of her hands. "Exactly. Your choice to disobey me doesn't make me angry at you, little love. Instead it disappoints me - it makes me sad - because it was a choice you made, wasn't it? You're much too smart to have forgotten what I said to you about that just last night. You decided to go against my wishes. Didn't you?"

More nodding and more and louder weeping.

"That makes me sad because I didn't give you that rule because I wanted to make you unhappy, but rather because I always want to keep you safe, and wandering about my flat unsupervised is a very unsafe thing for a little princess to do - "

"I sowwy, Woki!" Lily literally flings herself at his chest as she tearfully apologizes, and Loki hugs her tightly to him, rubbing her back while murmuring soothingly for long moments.

Then, when she's calmer, he sets her a bit away from him, saying, "Your apology is accepted, my dearest darling, but there will still have to be a consequence for your misbehavior."

Lily sniffles loudly at that pronouncement as Loki stands all that long way up then puts his hand out to her, index and third finger outstretched so that it's easier for her to latch onto him, and you watch your little girl look up at him for a long moment, then take hold of his hand and let him lead her out of the room, big stuffed dog still clamped under her arm, so big it drags a bit on the carpet next to her.

You've been rooted to the ground you are standing on when he discovered you, but you're not about to just let him take her away to apply some nebulous form of discipline - so you follow along behind the big, tall God and his tiny charge, whose fingers of her other hand have found their way into her mouth because of his displeasure with her as she sniffles softly while trudging reluctantly beside him.

He leads her back to the bedroom he created for her and lifts her onto the bed. Then he produces a pink sparkly hour glass with green sparkly sand in it, and even though he's holding it so that the sand is at the top and it should be flowing through to the bottom, it's not.

"Do you know what this is?" he asks, dropping to his knees next to the bed.

Lily shakes her head.

"It's called an hour glass, but it's really just a pretty timer. I have something I need to . . . discuss with your mother, so we will be in my room. You are to stay quietly in your bed for five minutes - until the timer runs out and all the sand is at the bottom. Then - and only then - you may call to me in our special way, and I'll come fetch you. Now please repeat back to me what I just said."

Lily does exactly as she was told, sounding eerily more like Loki than the last time she imitated him, her damp eyes glued to his face.

"Perfect," he smiles softy down at her, rising to kiss her cheek, then turns away quickly, and you are sure he caught a glimpse of you scampering back to his room.

You try to position yourself as you were - where you were - when he caught you, but you're also trying to listen for anything else he might say to her.

You didn't hear the door close, which is good - you always left her door - and yours - open just a bit, but you did hear him warn, "Remember - you are to remain quietly in bed, even when the timer has run out. You know how to summon me when it does."

"Yes, Woki," you hear her tiny voice answer him.

All too soon, he's standing in front of _you_ instead of Lily - much too close for your comfort - and you're fighting with yourself not to take a step backwards.

"Do my methods meet with your approval, Mumma?" he asks, letting you know that he was aware you'd followed him.

His question throws you a bit off guard. "Uh, yes. They do."

He looks pleased with himself. "I'm glad."

You're not sure you should ask this, but you do anyway, mostly to distract yourself - and hopefully distract him - from what he is doing as he advances towards you to wrap an arm around your waist and draw you inexorably closer.

"You wouldn't ever . . . spank her, would you?"

He frowns deeply. "Never. If I have given you the impression that I would ever harm her physically - "

"But you've threatened to spank me . . . "

His other hand cups your jaw, exerting just enough pressure that you have no choice but to look the long way up at him, into those bright emerald eyes of his. "If you'll remember, I said that I would deal with your disobedience in a different and more serious manner than hers. She is a tiny, delicate child who should be guided gently into choosing the correct behavior. So, in answer to your question, no, I would never, ever spank Lily."

You heave a sigh of relief, not really knowing why you trust him, but you do.

"You, on the other hand - despite how tiny and delicate you are -"

Your loud snicker at the absurdity of his description of you garners you a very surprising consequence - one very hard, very crisp smack on your bottom that startles you into yelping in real pain and arching your lower body away from it - which is to say into him at the same time.

"Ow!" you glare up at him accusingly, while you reach back a hand, wanting to soothe his painful insult to your behind.

But instead you find your hand captured there, and before long, the twin you sent to rescue it, too.

Just like that, you're held helpless in the big God's arms as he gazes down at you, obviously peeved at your reaction.

"I do not appreciate the way you question my description of you; how you tend to try to portray yourself as unappealing on any level. I would, therefore, advise you that in future, if you decide to continue to do so, you may expect more - and much harder - of the same response from me."

Your mouth is hanging open, you know, but he doesn't acknowledge it in the least as you feel your feet leave the floor and he carries you to the bed as if you weigh no more than a feather.

You're feeling somewhat better, that was true, but surely he couldn't mean to spank you, here and now, with your daughter wide awake only a few feet away!

"You can't - !" you begin, only to halt when he simply tucks you back under the covers.

As he sinks down onto the bed beside you, he replies smoothly, "I most definitely can and I shall, but, as I've said, not until you're completely well."

Another sigh of relief - and this one has him grinning and your bottom stinging and tingling at the same time.

His demeanor much more serious all of a sudden, Loki reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb rubbing absently over the top of it. "Was Lily's father abusive?"

Tensing a bit, you ask warily, "Where did that question come from?"

"I sensed real fear in her when I first addressed her about her misdeed - I know she wanted to run from me and I just wondered."

"He . . . " you haven't really talked to anyone about this, and you don't know why you're talking to him about it now, except that he was intuitive enough to ask. "He couldn't handle her being so weak and sick and he pretty much left me when she was born and it was clear there were complications. I was completely on my own to deal with all of the medical situations that came up. She's seen him a handful of times - he has supervised visitation, but he doesn't take the opportunity very often. I think he thinks of her as more of a burden than a person, and when he's with her, he doesn't make adjustments for her size and age - her delicacy and her challenges - like you do. You're very gentle and loving and patient with her."

Was he blushing? His pale skin had a definite tinge of pink.

"He . . . he's a big man, like you, maybe a little broader but not as tall, and he doesn't have much time or patience for anyone. He's . . . much . . . rougher with her than he should be - than I'm really comfortable with." You bite your lip. "He really wanted a boy. Lily - Lily is a disappointment to him on a lot of levels, and he doesn't hesitate to let her - or me - know that."

Now that was a distinctly protective growl you hear coming from Loki before he says, in a thoroughly autocratic way, "I know I do not have the right to do this, but I will anyway. I would ask that, the next time your ex-husband wishes to exercise his right to see Lily, that I supervise the visit with you."

You can't help it - you laugh out loud at that idea. "Brian would shit his pants."

Loki is not amused - in fact, you can clearly see a muscle ticcing angrily away in his jaw. "He'll be lucky if that's all I cause him to do should I see him treating her badly in any way." But then his demeanor changes, softening considerably, and he cups your cheek gently as he gazes into your eyes. "And you? Did he ever hurt you, Princess?"

Your eyes flicker away from his and you can feel him stiffen beside you in anticipation of your answer. "He never beat me, no. But he was - is - not a gentle man, or a gentleman, for that matter. He's big and booming and he likes to intimidate people because he can. He - he," you swallow hard at the painful memories, "was rough with me, too. Demanding. I can't really remember a tender moment between us, even though I was . . ." You stop yourself there, suddenly aware that you were going to confess that you were a virgin when you and Brian met, although you manage to stop yourself just in time. But then you say something else that's just about as revealing, admitting something out loud that you'd only ever said in your mind. "He never got to the point of physical violence, but the threat was always there. He would - often - deliberately made me feel afraid of him. No matter how nice he starts out, he always does, and I'm sure that Lily feels that way, too."

Another longer, lower growl, and you can see him flexing his fists on his thighs.

You clear your throat, glancing shyly at Loki. "Sorry. TMI."

Loki looks confused. "TMI?"

"It's an expression - the initials TMI for Too Much Information. Telling someone more intimate details than they wanted to hear about you."

"This was not that. Thank you for your honesty in telling me. And, based on what I've just learned, I am no longer asking. I realize that I might be overstepping, but the next time Lily's father contacts you in any way, I want you to let me know. I wish to be present any time you have to interact with him. Then you will have nothing whatsoever to fear."

 _Might_ be overstepping? As much as you love the idea of having someone backing you up when you had to deal with Brian, you aren't at all certain it should be Loki.

You're unsure about how to react to his edict, so you decide to distract him again - the technique seems to be working so far. "You know, I trust you with her - the Norse God of Mischief and Lies and a notorious villain, who I've known for all of what - less than two days? - much more than I do with him. I would never, ever leave her alone with him as I have with you. You've always been so great with her from the beginning, and she responds to you so well - " you frown up at him and ask the question that's been dancing around your mind since you first saw him give her an order and she snapped to. "Did you put a spell on her to make her behave?"

Loki chuckles. "I did not, but thank you. I'll take that as a compliment, whether or not that's the way it was intended. She's merely responding to authority and firmness that she can sense comes from someone who lo -" he corrects himself hastily - "cares about her." Then he turns that lethal, sweetly sexual smile on you, saying, "As I believe her mother will, also."

There's never any doubt when you blush and you know you're turning bright red at his words.

"Even though her mother is has proven herself to be just as disobedient," he drawls slyly.

You can't argue with the facts, unfortunately, but you can pout fit to rival Lily, and it makes him laugh.

"You are feeling somewhat better, I take it?"

"Yes, I am, finally!"

His smile is warm and genuine. "I am very glad to hear it." But then his expression changes, becomes darker as he frowns deeply and his voice lowers, and the combination makes your panties wetter than they already are around him, perpetually, it seems. "But do not make the mistake of thinking that I have forgotten your naughtiness."

Oh, God, that word - in and of itself - is very nearly lethal to you, but him using it, in that warning tone, and being all calmly, almost soothingly, dommish with you as he is, is almost enough to get you off without any further effort from him, to your great embarrassment.

If you were well, you'd already be cumming, you acknowledge very quietly, somewhere deep down inside yourself.

"I was just trying to find my clothes." Then an idea comes to you - as it never does in arguments - and you frown right back up at him. "And besides, if you'll remember, I never said I agreed to that rule, anyway."

It occurs to you that your point should have been that he has no right to make rules for you, but, as always in an argument, you think of it too late.

And your jaw dropped at his almost blithe response that you knew should have set off alarm bells in your head, but instead it had your lady parts contracting strongly.

"But it doesn't require your agreement," he purr-growls. "It merely requires my enforcement."

Unable to begin to process what he'd just said, you automatically spout what you'd been planning on saying when this moment arrived. "We've been imposing on your kindness for long enough. Now that I'm on the mend, we should leave." You try to put action to words, but you're not getting anywhere - and you're trying your hardest and he hasn't moved a muscle, damn him! It was like trying to get past a brick wall!

"Not until the Doctor examines you again and gives you a clean bill of health," he declares implacably, as if that settles it.

And it kind of does, because he certainly has the power to keep you there.

"You don't want to leave too soon, anyway," he continues casually, "- you might relapse. Besides, you know that Lily is in good hands - you've already said that to me. Why not take the time to fully recover - what better babysitters could she have than the Avengers, who are all at least as smitten with her as I am?" The last sentence was supposed to be a question, but he phrases it as a foregone conclusion.

The problem is that he makes a compelling case, especially since you seem to have exhausted your meager store of energy already just having gotten up that once.

Before you can give him a decision - clinging to the idea that you had a choice here - Loki's eyebrows go up, distracting you for a change.

"The Princess's time in purgatory is up. Shall I fetch her so that she can eat with you, or is your stomach still too tender for the sight of food?"

"Please - and thank you again - " You have no idea how to address him properly, but you knew he was a Prince, and thus royalty, so you added, "Your High -"

"Just Loki," he supplies with smile.

"Loki," you repeat back to him, knowing you're blushing at the way he's looking down at you so intently.

"And you do not need to keep thanking me. Once was enough - although your note was quite thoughtful, too."

You'd forgotten about that.

He leaves your presence to go collect Lily, and you can hear him whispering to her, and her tinkling laugh, so all must be right between them.


	6. Chapter 6

When they enter again, she's in full princess regalia - head to toe a sparkly pink and green fairy with beautiful, delicate wings that actually move on their own and a spectacular tiara that's bigger than her head - walking ahead of Loki - who looks adorably ridiculous carrying the big stuffed dog she's apparently become attached to, but he doesn't seem to mind in the least - his eyes only ever lovingly on her - and you, you're startled to realize - and she is very carefully carrying a princessy pink breakfast tray.

"I'na eat wiff you, Mumma," she declares happily.

Admirably before she decides to ditch the tray in favor of climbing into bed with you, Loki relieves her of it and her wings so they won't get in the way, and she does just that, getting a cuddle and a kiss from you before he helps her arrange herself so that she's sitting up against pillows, putting the tray carefully over her legs.

You can see that it's laden with all sorts of breakfast foods - very few of which she will eat, but you decide to let him discover her finicky side for himself.

But you didn't count on Lily's reactions to Loki, which are much different - annoyingly so - from hers to you.

Not only did he fill her small pink butterfly plate with what she asked for - a small portion of hash browns and a piece of bacon - but he has brought his own breakfast, too - which accounts for all the food.

He proceeds to cut a wedge of cantaloupe into small, bite sized pieces and eat one himself, but he then offers the smallest one to Lily from the tips of his fingers.

And she lets him feed it to her!

You do your best not to direct your glare in any particular direction. Getting fruit into her is always a struggle, and here he comes along and does it in one try! And he does the same thing with a bit of scrambled eggs, which she wouldn't so much as look at for you!

If you weren't so attracted to him - and he wasn't being so blasted nice to the two of you - you could easily be convinced to hate his guts.

"But Woki, what 'bout Mumma?" Lily asks dramatically, as if you're being horribly neglected by him, making the both of you smile.

Loki does his best to tamp down his amusement. "Well, Mumma's tummy's not been feeling very well of late, but perhaps some dry toast?" He holds his hand up and another pink princess plate appeared in it, carrying the aforementioned toast, which he sets down on the tray.

You are amused and amazed when he breaks a small piece off of the end of a slice and offers it to you, his fingers right in front of your mouth.

Somehow the act - however kind - is also much too intimate, and your body betrays your thoughts to him, your skin flushing pink.

But his hand never wavers, although the knowing expression he's wearing - and the fact that he gives you a big ole' lascivious wink - doesn't help matters in the least.

The doting Prince proceeds to hand feed the two of you, although you raise an objection to him feeding Lily that way.

"She should be doing that for herself. She knows how."

Loki merely grins at you. "So do you."

"Yes, but when we go back home, I'm not going to hand feed her. I have other things to do during breakfast."

"Do you think I could convince you to make an exception for me, I wonder?" He again lowers his voice to its sexiest, rumbliest range, saying, "I'd be more than willing to show my gratitude in any way you choose, if you did."

It was an indecent proposal if you ever heard one and he wasn't doing anything to try to hide it no matter how absurd you thought the idea of it was - he did everything but waggle his eyebrows at you. You aren't used to being treated like this by him - by anyone, really. Brian - Lily's father - was your most serious relationship to date, and he hadn't flirted with you much, if at all, that you could remember. His style was much less subtle.

Truly puzzled by his behavior towards you, you ask boldly, although while avoiding his eyes, "Why is it that everything you say to me sounds vaguely like you're flirting with me?"

Eyes widening in mock surprise, he answers, "Oh, dear, am I being vague? My silver tongue must be quite tarnished from disuse if you think I am _not_ flirting with -"

You can't help but roll your eyes a little. "Tarnished from disuse - right! I think reality is quite the opposite - I think flirting is your natural state."

"Then I'm sorry to tell you that you're wrong. It has been a very long time since I've practiced those particular skills on any female."

You can't help a derisive snort as he pops another small piece of toast into your mouth. "You'll forgive me, then, if I find it patently ridiculous that you should choose frumpy, pudgy me on which to hone them."

Pleasant expression unchanged, which somehow makes what he says just that much more powerful, he responds in a deep, resonant tone that makes your stomach clench and your decidedly already damp panties sizzle, "No, I do not forgive you, especially since I told you only a few minutes ago that I will not tolerate you denigrating yourself."

Lily, who has stopped eating what is on her plate and is contemplating the two of you quite seriously, pipes up to chide you. "Mumma, don't be naughty. Woki doesn't wike it when youw naughty."

"That's very right," he agrees heartily, giving Lily a smile and a wink, but then slowly turning his head to stare into your eyes more than a bit wolfishly and taking your hand from where it lay on the bed to his lips, kissing not the back of it, but turning it slightly to place his warm lips to gently to your much more sensitive palm. "Loki does not like it at all when you're naughty, Princess," he murmurs sexily, "although he will thoroughly enjoy correcting you, nonetheless."

Your eyes widen as you snatch your hand away from him but he simply chuckles softly at your outrage.

"Aw you gonna give hew a time out?"

Loki smiles benignly down at the little girl. "Something like that, lovely, when she's feeling better." He glances down at the little girl's plate, which was mostly empty - and she'd eaten the little bit of everything he'd offered her from his own plate, too - even more fruit and even a bit of what looked like broiled tomato. "Are you finished, my darling girl?"

Lily nods big, although her enormous tiara remains in place - with the assistance of Loki's magic, no doubt.

"Well then, please bring these plates out to the kitchen and put them on the counter by the sink. We'll soon wash them together, yes?"

Lily did usually love to "help" in any way she could, and you can tell that she's proud that he's given her something to do along that vein. When she's scrambled off the bed, Loki hands her the tray with the two plates on it, saying, "That's my good girl. When you've done that, I want you to go into your room and play quietly with your toys, and I'll come collect you in a minute to help me with the washing up."

Lily automatically repeats back to him what he'd told her to do, earning a brilliant smile from her hero, who leans across the bed - on which he is at just the right height to be at Lily's level without having to bend down, for once - to point to a spot on his cheek for her to kiss, and saying woefully, "I find I'm frightfully low on Princess kisses. Might I prevail upon you to give me one? Or two? Or eleventy-three?"

Giggling delightedly the entire time, she kisses him, again and again and again, as he demands, until he sits up with a broad smile, proclaiming, "I think that ought to hold me for a little while, anyway. Thank you ever so much, Princess Lily, for being so generous with your kisses to a Prince in dire need. Now, on your way."

She turns and he pats her bottom gently before she scoots - carefully - off to do his bidding.

"Why didn't you just vanish everything?" you ask, truly curious as to his motives.

Loki is busily arranging himself entirely too close to you, bodily - if gently - moving you down in the bed and onto your side, then reclining fully himself and pressing himself against you from behind again. Only this time his hands didn't massage you, but rather his arms found their way around your waist to hold you tightly.

"Because it gave her a chore to do that she could accomplish easily, and it gave us something we can work on together later."

You turn your head look at him consideringly. "You're a natural at this, you know. You'll be a very good father."

You mean it as a compliment, but he stiffens a little at it. "I _am_ a father - and a mother - actually, and I've not done either very well."

"Well, you're doing really well with her."

"Thank you." He squeezes you a bit. "I dare to hope I'm doing at least as well with her Mother, although it's much harder to tell about that, because, for some reason, her mother is much more reticent and shy around me, which I'm hoping to help her realize she needn't be."

You freeze in his arms, barely able to believe what you're hearing him say to you, and having absolutely no idea how it is that you want to respond because you're just too flustered to do so.

Worse than that, you feel him gently rearranging you again, turning you so that you're on your back, looking up at him as he braces himself up on his elbow, whispering, almost shyly himself, which you know is against his nature, "I'm still considerably low on Princess kisses, and I happen to know that adult Princess kisses are much, much more potent than baby Princess kisses. Do you think you might be willing to shore up my stores a bit?" He does with you exactly what he did with Lily, pointing to a spot on his cheek and angling it towards you, leaning down a bit so that it will be that much easier for you to comply with his request.

You bite your lip for a long moment, but he remains where he is, patiently waiting for you to come around to his way of thinking and give him what he wants - in more ways than one, you're sure, somehow.

And you do, however much you're scolding yourself internally for giving in to him so easily, tilting your head up the very short way you need to to set your lips against his cheek very tentatively, barely touching it before leaning back.

"Thank you ever so much," he breathes, but his finger returns to his cheek, as it did with Lily. "Please, Princess, may I have another?"

He asks so sweetly that you're hard pressed to deny him, and find you can't, really. What harm did it do to kiss him like this, really?

Of course, he wanted another and another, moving his cheek incrementally closer each time until, the last time, his cheek is almost already at your lips when he asks, and you dutifully purse your lips to again grant what is apparently his most fervent wish.

But this time, he turns his face quickly, so that it's not his cheek that you end up kissing, but his warm, welcoming lips, instead.

When you would have withdrawn in surprise, his hand reaches out to curve his fingers around the back of your head, not allowing your retreat - not hurting you at all while doing so, of course - quite the opposite. The feeling of him holding you like that, those long fingers threaded into your hair, close to your scalp, combined with his gently firm lips on yours cause you to whimper - just once, unconsciously, and you can feel his elation at having elicited just that small sound of pleasure from you. His tongue teases along your lips, tracing them delicately, yours falling open just a bit in anticipation of his tongue in your mouth, but he surprises you and draws back a little, kissing the tip of your nose instead, whispering huskily, "I wouldn't want to prevail on your good nature, indulging me in a real kiss, which are the most powerful and precious of all to me." His face darkens a bit, becoming much more intense as he says, "But I can promise you that in the very near future, I won't be able to resist taking what you have so sweetly offered."

With that he gives you another teasing, rakish wink and rises, trailing his fingertips lightly over you as he does so, obviously reluctant to leave you.

"I think I'd better go see what the littlest Princess is up to." Then he gives you a warning look. "That's two spankings you've earned, my lady." You try to bluster, but he puts his finger over the lips he's so recently kissed. "I think we'll have to address at least the first of them sooner rather than later, lest they begin to pile up."

With that, he leans down to kiss your cheek, and goes off in search of your daughter, while you lay there, wondering what was becoming of your life that you could so enchant a God when you hadn't had so much as the offer of a date from a mortal man in years, and barely any before that, either.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the day was uneventful, if one could call spending the day being pampered - waited on hand and foot - by a God - "uneventful" - and you're surprised at how at ease you are with him, but then he's being nothing but solicitous and attentive, to you and Lily both.

Kinda makes you wonder who tried to destroy New York City.

He even - very carefully, very subtly - gets both of you to take a nap that afternoon, while you're lying together in his big bed. Having fed you both - literally hand fed - chicken fingers and green beans you swore she'd never eat to Lily (you guessed you had to stop underestimating his effect on her, and long may it wave if he could get her to eat healthy foods) - and some more of that delicious veggie broth that was so good you really couldn't object to even though you were hungry and would have preferred something a little more substantial was spoon fed to you without spilling a drop.

And you say something to that effect - that you would have liked something more than broth - under your breath, although not much - as he sits on the edge of the bed with a small bowl for you on his lap, and a plate for Lily on the bed. But he just smiles at you, saying, "I had thought about that, but I didn't want to push it on the first day you're feeling better. You can have something more elaborate for dinner."

"Thanks ever so much, Your Majesty," you mutter sarcastically, forgetting that that title is not an impossibility for him.

And he simply leans forward and whispers boldly, "You're welcome," in a tone that lets you know that he heard but has decided to ignore your sarcasm.

Afterwards, he sits in an easy chair facing the both of you, his big feet up on the bed next to you, telling you stories about growing up on Asgard, and Lily is his first casualty, although you can hardly blame her. Within only a few minutes, you can hear her soft baby snores next to you.

And you realize that you're going to be next - whether you want to be or not. You're all toasty warm under the covers, belly fuller than it's been in a while but still behaving, and his voice, which is almost always warm and low when addressing you has become what you suspect is deliberately quieter and slower, all buttery soft and soothing - dangerously so.

A yawn overtakes you, and you're sure you see a hint of a smile turn up the ends of his lips, but it's gone so fast you can't be sure and he simply continues on with his story about some time he and Thor did something they probably oughtn't have, which seems to have been a pattern in his growing up years . . .

And the next thing you knew, Lily is jumping on the bed beside you.

"MUMMA, MUMMA, MUMMA!"

You turn onto your back while she bounces and fidgets until you manage to respond. "What?"

"See what Woki weft us?!

Those words were more than enough to get you to open your eyes immediately when little else would have. But the sight that greeted them was nothing to be alarmed about, thankfully. There was a good sized princess/fairy balloon floating above Lily, and attached to it - sort of, although there was no string connecting them - was an envelope that hovered well below it, which you reached out and caught before Lily got any ideas - although she was too enchanted by the balloon that seemed to magically follow her like a puppy.

You unfold the paper inside - which you note reluctantly smells exactly like him - and read the message:

 **My** **Gorgeous Princesses:**

 **I have been unexpectedly called away from you to return to Asgard for what should be no longer than this evening.**

 **Please make yourselves completely at home. Whatever you might want or need, all you, Mumma, have to do is ask for it out loud - twice - and it shall be yours.**

 **I shall endeavor to get back to you as quickly as I can - hopefully no later than tomorrow morning - but regardless, do NOT leave my apartment before I have a chance to see you.**

 **Your,**

 **Prince Loki**

You miss nothing about the note, from his bold, elegant scrawl to his intimation that their every wish would be fulfilled simply by saying it out loud twice - something you were not about to tell Lily - nor his autocratic order at the end about not leaving his apartment - before he had a chance to say goodbye, you assume - or his telling use of "Your" before his name, as if he felt he already belonged to the two of you but couldn't be sure enough that you were his not to scratch out the "My" in his salutation.

Not that he didn't then leave it there for you to see, knowing you were going to be the only one reading his note.

Despite his very generous - and frankly kind of stupid - trick - what if you had wished for an elephant or a Maserati? - you aren't about to take advantage of it, so you dismiss it as if he hadn't informed you of it, putting it completely out of your mind.

In the end, the two of you spend a very quiet evening in his apartment - which was kind of strange to be in without him, especially since you didn't know him all that well.

You are sick of - and surprisingly still somewhat uneasy about - the bedroom, perhaps because of the accumulation of evidence that he was interested in you in a manner you cannot begin to fathom, from him, of all people - so you spend most of the rest of the day in the big sunken living room, watching cartoons on a truly enormous flat screen TV. Overall, you do your best not to snoop, but is hard not to notice that Lily's thank you present has been beautifully framed and is hanging in a place of honor above the mantle, which warms your heart in ways you wished it didn't.

Even though Loki had said that he would ask Dr. Banner to come by that day to check you out again, he never arrives, and you wonder if the Avengers had gone with him to Asgard.

When you both get hungry, you poke about a little in the kitchen, but Prince Loki apparently doesn't keep much in the way of food on hand, but then, why would he?

You've suddenly gotten your appetite back and are disastrously close to hangry, so you call Pizza Hut and ask them to deliver a pretzel crust, pan pizza with pepperoni, sausage, and onions - then you change your mind and cancel the onions, not wanting to consider your motives for doing so very carefully - and substitute black olives instead, as well as a small personal pan cheese pizza for Lily.

When you give your address as Avengers Tower, you can hear the person on the other edge gulp loudly, and his voice shakes as he asks, "What apartment number?"

You're able to give it to him from memory, because your mind catches stupid, insignificant bits of info like that and you'd noticed it on the way in. He gives you the total and you put it on your credit card - money was tight enough that anything out of the ordinary budget-wise went on a card that you did your best to pay off every month, occasionally achieving your goal, most times not. He says it'll be about fifteen minutes.

Actually getting the pizza, though, ends up being nowhere near that easy and involves a phone call - to your cell, which you didn't think anyone around here had but then remembered that Fury had probably gotten it - from the front desk person - who is not the receptionist who let you in but apparently a security guard or the equivalent - who seems appalled that someone is ordering pizza and ends up escorting the petrified delivery guy to your door personally.

Apparently no one else in Avengers Towers has ever had pizza delivered.

Huh.

Although embarrassment about the situation has definitely set in, you - chubster that you are, which is exactly what you're sure both of the men are thinking, something to the effect that you should have ordered a salad, at least for yourself - do your best to bull your way through it.

You're hungry. There's no food here. You have a hungry daughter. What else were you supposed to do?

Still, the hassle and your concerns about what the guard might be thinking about it dampens your enjoyment, and you only eat about a half a piece, which is all your stomach seems to want anyway, luckily. You acknowledge to yourself that it probably wasn't the best move after you'd been sick, but what was done, was done. At least you didn't feel sick. That was something to be celebrated.

Lily resists going to bed at her usual time - of course - and you are feeling more lenient than you usually are, so you allow her to stay up an hour later, knowing she was hoping to kiss Loki good night before she goes to sleep, but eventually you tuck her in, and you aren't far behind, either. You're surprised at how exhausted you are when you really hadn't done anything, and the - his - bed looks enticingly comfortable - and you certainly know that it is - that you can't resist, even at a frighteningly early hour.

The next morning when you wake, there is still no Loki, so you poke around a bit in his room and find the drawer where he's stored your clothes then get Lily dressed in one of the outfits from the bulging wardrobe in the closet in her fake bedroom, and the both of you begin gathering all of your things together. As much as you aren't trying to be nosy, you do rummage a little beneath his kitchen sink for a trash bag in which to transport the surprising amount of stuff you'd accumulated since you've been there, although you very carefully only pack what you are sure is yours.

Lily, of course, wants to take the entire contents of that wonderful room Loki has created for her, but you tell her firmly that she could choose one tiara and one toy, and that was it.

She is not happy with that edict, pouting and stomping around and crying crocodile tears.

You stand before her and tilt her stubborn little chin up to look her in the eye, keeping your voice very carefully quiet and neutral as you repeat, "Two things - a tiara and a toy. We've - well, you've - had a lovely time here with Loki, but it's coming to an end and now we have to get back to reality. We do not live here and these things cannot come home with us. It's your choice, my darling daughter, whether you get those two things or nothing at all, depending on your behavior."

She huffs angrily a couple of times after you let go of her chin, but then begins to look around her - the - room in earnest, trying to decide what to take.

When she finally decides - on the stuffed dog she'd been carting around that you should have just chosen for her because you knew it was what she was going to end up with - as well as the most elaborately beautiful tiara he'd given her - and you had seen that choice coming, too - you have all the crap you'd gathered in a big hefty bag, your purse over your shoulder, and Lily's hand in yours, you march to the door and open it.

And there he stands, in full armor - and you realize you'd forgotten just how large he is, especially when he's wearing that - in the act of reaching for the doorknob himself.

His eyes meet yours and his eyebrows go up, then he takes a step forward, deliberately, and just that easily, crowding you back into his apartment.

"WOKI!" Lily drops what was in her hands and launches herself at him full speed, with the absolute surety of a little girl who knows she's loved by the man she's running to, who smiles brightly and scoops her up into his arms, holding her above his head for a long moment while she giggles down at him, then lowering her into his arms to hug her tightly, kissing her cheek very loudly.

"Why, Princess Lily, I have missed you overmuch!" he declares, smothering her in kisses while she laughs and tries to turn her head and push him away. Loki feigns rejection, hanging his head dejectedly for a moment, then raising it to look expectantly at you. "It appears I am out of favor with one of m - Princess."

He takes one big stride and is suddenly standing in front of you, still holding your daughter, who is resting her head against his chest and looking up at him adoringly. "But what say you, Princess?"

For once in your life, you say exactly what's on your mind, without clearing it first through your overactive conscience. "I say welcome home!" You smile up at him, but are completely unprepared for him to put Lily down to better close the small gap between you so he can take you into his arms for a warm kiss and a wonderfully tight hug that you knew you should resist or object to somehow, but you just can't find the desire to do so.

Someone small was tugging at Loki's armor, standing atop his boots and stomping with all her little might, and chanting peevishly, "NO! Woki hug me! WOKI HUG MEEEEE!"

To which Loki chuckles and bends down, not releasing you from his hold in the least, but lifting Lily with one arm to perch on his hip, then turn to give you another kiss - that is somewhat less successful than the first because of tiny little fingers that are diligently trying to worm their way between your lips and his, making the both of you laugh.

You take the opportunity to move a bit away from him as he puts Lily back down, and when he rises, he gives you a look that lets you know that he knows that you've done that.

His big hand rests atop Lily's head, absently stroking her hair while she clings to his leg like a limpet. "My apologies for having to leave you in the first place, and for being late back in the second, lovelies, but duty called."

"We understand."

You can see his eyes sweeping around the flat, taking in your preparations to leave - although he'd told you not to - and you want to look away from him when they finally light back on yours, but for some reason you can't.

"Going somewhere?" he asks smoothly, looking you up and down and noting that you are back in your own clothes.

Damn your telltale blush! But you manage to execute somewhat of a recovery. "Yes," you say brightly. "We were going to bring all this stuff down to the car and come right back."

His dubious look was almost enough to break you, but you somehow manage to stand firm.

Barely.

"Ah, I see," he says, although his eyebrow is still nearly at his hair line and you know you're skating on perilously thin believability ice with him.

Then he says something that distracts you, having noticed the box you left neatly by the garbage. "Pizza for dinner last night?"

His tone doesn't just suggest, it out and out states that he doesn't think that was a very good idea, but you stiffen your back. You're not sick any more, and he isn't your boyfriend - and even if he was, he wouldn't have the right to object.

"Yes. I was hungry, and there was no food in this apartment."

His head tilts as he looks at you. "All you had to do was say 'broth' or 'macaroni and cheese' twice . . . "

You had forgotten that - and were glad you did. That kind of thing would be entirely too dangerous. You'd meant to put it out of your mind, and you were successful.

"I know, but I didn't want either of those things; I wanted pizza. Hence the leftovers that are in your fridge."

He takes the step towards you that you had taken away from him. "And how are you feeling? Dr. Banner was right behind me - "

Right on cue, there's a knock on the door, but Loki doesn't move. Instead, he continues to eye you intently and you're sure he can see every wrinkle, every flaw, every pore in your skin, when, in fact, he simply wants you to reassure himself that you're better. He certainly hadn't meant to leave you alone for what he knew would probably be your last night with him, but, as he had said, duty had called - inconveniently, as ever.

He isn't at all sure that he's cut out for this heroing business, especially when it interfered with his time with - and his wooing of - you.

"You are well?" he prompts as there's another loud knock, still not making a move to answer it.

"Yes, yes, I'm feeling much better, thank you."

Looking more relieved than you think he ought to about a woman who is, essentially, a stranger, he murmurs, "I'm very glad to hear that."

Only then does Loki get the door.

It's the good Doctor, who at the sight of you up and about grins broadly. "Well, I think I can guess without the medical degree that you're mostly recovered?" although he still phrases it as a question as he ambles over to you.

"I am, thank you." He's such a nice man, you can't help but smile back at him.

Judging by Loki's glower, which you can see any time you look past the Doctor's shoulder, he apparently doesn't share your assessment of Banner at all.

The doctor checks your temp, and feels your glands, then takes your hand and pinches a bit of skin on the back of it. "Well, you've survived this plague, anyway, although you are a bit dehydrated, which is to be expected, so push fluids for a couple of days, huh?"

"Anything you say, Doctor."

Is he blushing? "You don't have to call me that - call me Bruce."

You offer your hand and he shakes it, holding it for a bit longer than is necessary, until someone behind him growls and he lets go, more out of surprise you think than any fear of the tall man who is standing behind him, face as dark and threatening as a thundercloud.

Ignoring him, you continue to smile at the doctor, even reaching out to touch his arm to emphasize your words. "Thank you very much for the impromptu house calls you've made on my behalf. I appreciate it enormously. What do I owe you? I'll send you a check."

He's very definitely blushing. "That's not nec -"

Loki has apparently had about enough, and inserts himself bodily between the two of you. "The doctor came here as a favor to me, so if there is any debt to be paid, it is mine alone," he growls, guiding the other man forcibly towards the door.

"It was very nice meeting you," Bruce throws over his shoulder as he's being none too gently ushered out.

"You, too!" you reply, waving at him as Loki closes the door loudly behind him, although your hand falls to your side at the look he gives you when he turns around to fix you with that very potent stare.

Not taking his eyes from you, he commands with an almost frightening softness, "Princess Lily, I need you to play quietly in your room for a few minutes while I have a little talk with your Mumma before you go."

Lily starts to do as he asked, but hesitates, and comes to stand in front of him, fingers in her mouth, a sure sign she is feeling unsettled. Immediately, Loki crouches before her and she moves to stand between his knees until he lifts her onto his thigh, and her arm naturally finds its way around his neck, which leaves her mouth unencumbered, but you notice that those wet, insecure fingers have glommed onto a hank of his hair just behind his ear instead, not that he seems to mind in the least.

"What is it, my angel?" he asks, so softly you can barely hear it.

"Mumma says we godda go!" she practically wails. "I don' wanna go! I wanna stay wiff yoooouuuuu!"

Loki hugs her to him for a long time, rubbing her back gently, then setting her back onto his knee. "Well, poppet, I'm afraid your Mum's right, because you don't live here. And you need to get back to the home where you and your Mumma live."

"But whad 'bout you? You'we opposed to be wiff us," she announced with a child's absolute certainty.

That made him smile. "You know," he whispered conspiratorially, looking over at you pointedly, "I would like nothing more than to have you two live with me, eventually. But not now. Now your Mumma must go back to work, and you go back to pre-school and playing pee-wee football and seeing your friends, but, maybe, sometime, if your Mumma agrees, I could come and visit you."

Oh, God in Heaven, NO!, your mind is screaming. That can NEVER, EVER happen. You would be horrified for him to see your tiny, ratty - no matter how clean you tried to keep it - wrong-side-of-the-tracks apartment.

But Lily - hell, the two of them, damn his manipulating heart - are looking at you as if you have the power to grant their greatest wish, so you don't say, "Hell no!" like you so desperately want to. Instead, you paste a big, fake smile on your face and say, "That sounds like a lovely idea," knowing in your heart that you'll do your best to make sure it never happens.

Lily looks at least a little happier at that idea - even if it is in the nebulous future.

Loki cups her small chin in his big hand, looking directly into her eyes. "I will not lose track of you, little one. Never you fear." He kisses her forehead tenderly. "I will always be just a thought away."

"I lub you, Woki!" she murmurs quietly, pressing her nose to his.

"I love you, too, my Princess." He kisses the tip of her nose and hugs her again, tightly, then puts her down on her feet. "Now, what did I ask you to do, babygirl?" he asks firmly.

"Pway quietwy in my woom fow a few minutes," she recites back to him, in his own voice, quite a few octaves higher.

"Very good. Now off with you." He nods his head towards her room, and she needs no further encouragement to dive into that princessy heaven.

When he rises, slowly, you know that his eyes have been inspecting you, from the tips of your comfortable sneakers to the hair you finally got a chance to run a brush through for the first time in what seems like forever, and you can feel yourself tremble because of it.

You're so distracted by the fact that you're blushing hard under his intense gaze that you're not prepared for it when he takes your hand and leads you to the door to his room, stopping before he enters and nodding for you to go ahead of him - which you do not want to do but for some unknown reason you can't keep yourself from doing anyway - and then closing the door behind him and leaning against it with his hands tucked behind him, contemplating you as you stand before him, fidgeting nervously.

But if you didn't want him to do this - what you know he's going to do - what he's promised you he was going to for the past couple of days - then why are you here - alone in his bedroom with him, not really having given any sign of protest? And why were your lady parts dampening at the thought - parts that sincerely hoped he didn't stop at merely spanking you?

Merely? Where'd that come from?!

You couldn't imagine that spanking from Loki could ever be described as "mere"!

You shake your head a little to clear it of such rebellious thoughts.

Which lasts all of five seconds as he moves towards you, at which point you determine that, no matter how much some pretty important parts of you might think you want him to do this - no matter how much the idea titillates you, and it does - you have to try to stop him from doing it.

And, knowing full well that you are revealing what a wuss you are, you can't keep yourself from taking a step away from him and putting your hand out.

Yeah, right. Like that's going to stop him, idiot!

"Wait, no - you can't -" your mind scrambles for a viable reason why not - "you'll scare Lily."

"This room is soundproof, as is hers," he replies patiently, assuming a wide-legged power stance in front of you - although not terribly close - and lacing his fingers together in front of him, as if he knows exactly what you're trying to do and will deal with each objection patiently - although there's no telling when that patience might run out.

But that was exactly what you'd hoped he'd say. "Then we won't be able to hear her if something happens," you crow triumphantly.

One side of his mouth quirks up. " _I'll_ be able to hear her." He moves a bit closer, although you're so absorbed in trying to invent reasons why he can't do as he'd said he would that you don't notice it.

When you really should have.

"Oh."

Rats! That was your best chance! You have to think fast, which is not something you're very good at, at least not when you're so nervous, anyway.

Inspiration finally hits.

"You can't - I, uh, I'm feeling sick."

His eyebrows rise, then furrow quickly, taking a step towards you that feels natural and not as if he's stalking you - as if it's only out of pure concern for you. "Well, then I guess I'd better tuck you back into bed and tell Lily that you're not going anywhere."

"Fuck." You sigh heavily and confess, "No, I'm fine."

"Did you just fib to me?" he asks, pinning your eyes with his.

Crap.

"No, I - uh - "

"Since you've already earned two spankings, I would suggest that you not add lying to me just to get out of one of them, since that would very much have the opposite effect. You're a smart woman, and that would not be an intelligent choice."

All of a sudden you realize that he is standing very close to you, staring, rapt, like prey before a predator, as he reaches out his hand slowly to you, his eyes searching yours the entire time, and you would swear he's trying to be reassuring, but you just couldn't buy it, so you skitter away from him, going around him, even knowing there wasn't anywhere on the planet - much less this now tiny seeming room - where you could truly get away from him if he didn't allow you to. You don't even try the door, assuming it's locked, but instead put your back to the wall next to it, assuming a position as far away from him as you can get.

But Loki doesn't pursue you as you expect him to. Instead, he sits down on the end of the bed, his hand still out to you, palm up, waiting for you to come to him and put yours into his. And, as he does so, his armor fades so that he is now in a gorgeous green button up shirt that's open at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up, black suit pants, and black leather dress shoes.

Frankly, it's just how you would have dressed him if you were picturing this scene in your mind - not that you would, of course. And you don't allow that thought to distract you.

"But I never agreed to this," you whisper.

One black eyebrow goes up, and he looks mildly surprised. "When it comes down to it, it doesn't require your agreement. It merely requires my enforcement."

It was your turn to have a face like a thundercloud at that statement - it's the second time he's said that or something very close to it and you haven't liked it either time - until he continues, "If you'll remember, I told you exactly what would happen, and I even pointed out that, if you disobeyed me, you would do so with the full knowledge of what I was going to do to you if -" he said with a small smile to himself, as if he always knew you would - " _when_ you did."

You're biting your lip, knowing he's right and hating him for it and yourself for making him right.

Still, so far he had treated both you and Lily with nothing but kindness. You can't see that he was going to turn all evil all of a sudden and beat the ever loving shit out of you.

Probably not, anyway.

At your obvious - and completely understandable hesitance - he begins to speak in that most melodious tone of his, his words and their potent meanings working a kind of magic on you that had nothing to do with tricks or incantations, and everything to do with how intrinsically safe he made you feel you are with him – even against your will.

"Women on Asgard are treated in a manner I think you Midgardians regard as old fashioned - they are to be cherished and protected, even from themselves and their own naughty behavior." His eyes never leave yours, that beautiful hand of his still extended towards you. "I applaud and support, however, Midgardian women's desire for more than that, for their independence, although I must confess that I have a hard time curbing my less modern tendencies when it comes to you and Lily, in regards to wanting to keep you safe and well."

He continues in that insidious, silver-tongued way of his, head tilted slightly as he considers you. "If I was more of a gentleman than I am I'd let you off with just a warning."

Your eyes flare with hope at that.

"But unhappily for you, I am nowhere near enough of one at heart to do that. I have said that you would be punished if you disobeyed me, and so you shall, and although it will be quite thorough and uncomfortable - otherwise I wouldn't bother to do it for you - I doubt it will be the horror that you are undoubtedly building it up to be in your mind, despite the fact that I have given you no reason to think that I would ever harm you - or Lily - and, indeed, have stated categorically that I would not several times."

Unbelievably, even to yourself, the truth of what he's saying has you taking a miniscule step towards him, and the warmth - and pleasure - that suffuses his face at that small action is nearly enough to send you running to him, open armed, like Lily so often did.

In a way, you wished - with a wrench of your heart - that you felt you could do that - at this time or any other. You'd never had that feeling about another person - certainly not Brian - and you continue to be surprised that you are yearning for things to be that way between you and Loki.

But not quite. You're still very tentative, still thinking seriously of bolting - to Lord knew where, but somewhere - still gripped by a fear you couldn't begin to describe - as well as a raw, highly sexualized excitement that you heartily wished would do the proper thing and leave you alone, rather than causing your body to ready itself for him in an entirely too intimate manner, making your heart pound in your throat as your breath escaped your body in great, nervous puffs.

"That's it. Come to me, Princess," he whispers encouragingly.

And you do, staring into his eyes and mindlessly - if slowly - covering the ground between you, wishing you could blame your actions on his magic, but knowing - in your heart and mind - that he is not coercing you to obey him in an other-wordly manner, but, instead, was doing so in an entirely too earthy way.

A few small steps away, your hand goes out tentatively, and his waits for you to decide to trust him, his hand rock steady and unwavering, although you think you can see that he's holding his breath in anticipation until your fingers touch his, and then you can hear it sigh out of him, even though you're just barely in contact with him, still ready to retract it at any sign of aggression from him, but there is none, as you know, deep down, there won't be.

His fingers don't even fold around yours until your hand is fully in his and for a long beat, afterwards, then, and only then - when they finally do - you feel almost relieved at their warmth and gentleness as he squeezes your fingers once, with great care, tugging you the last few tiny steps to him.

He stands when you finally get to him, so that you're flush up against him, kissing you more boldly than he has, his other hand splayed at your back, not confining you, just there, and you can feel the sure and certain rise of his desire against your yielding tummy, just as you're sure as he can feel both the hard peaks and firm softness of your breasts against the muscles of his chest.

With one of his big, gentle hands on either side of your face, he tips it up so that you have no choice but to look at him, breathing softly, "You will never know just how honored I feel that you have decided to trust me like this on such short acquaintance. I vow, right here and now, that I will do everything in my not-inconsiderable power to live up to the trust you have placed in me, and to be mindful of it - and you - every second for the rest of my life."

His words sounds uncomfortably serious and proposal-ish, you think, but you aren't about to say anything because you don't want to make a fool of yourself and presume anything.

As his thumbs caress your face, his eyes searching yours, he sits down again, his right hand sliding down your left arm to take gentle possession of your hand, tugging slightly as he pats his knee with his other hand, and you know that he expects you to place yourself over his lap.

He's not going to force you, not going to do it for you. He wants something much more intimate - something much more powerful: for you to place your very vulnerable self over his lap and into his care.

And, although you hesitate, your mind racing, your uppermost thought is that you've been doing that for a couple of days already, and he's taken exquisite care of you. If he'd wanted to hurt you - or Lily - at any time, he could have done so long since.

It is that thought that you try to keep in mind as you slowly - very, very slowly - do as he is silently asking and stretch yourself out over those improbably long legs of his, barely able to believe that that's what you're doing even as you're doing it, and discovering that his lap is surprisingly comfortable, although you refuse to acknowledge that realization.

Being in this position was not something you ever intended to enjoy, or even get used to in any way.

This was a one time thing – an aberration – like this entire incident. That was probably how your mind allowed you to end up here. It was something that was happening out of time, a couple of days that would never be repeated.

When you finally left, you doubted you'd see Loki again, despite his blatant affection for Lily – and, if he was to be believed, you. You couldn't see him tagging along after you to your run down, inner city apartment like some lovesick boy.

He was a God.

You are a lower middle-class Midgardian woman, a single parent, with a dead end job and a mailbox full of bills.

This was your one shot to experience something interesting in your life – something different. You doubted very many other women could claim to have had a God looking after them and their child, much less spanking them, and you can't imagine that anything like this is ever going to happen to you again.

Wait – are you considering this a good thing? Something to brag about to your friends?

Your mind pulled you away from your egotistical daydreaming by reminding you of a few jarring realities.

Remember the size of this man's hands.

And his strength.

And his magic.

With those sobering thoughts, you swallow hard, mouth dry as the Sahara, as the fingers of one of those big hands lands on your bottom, then begins to slide upwards, towards the waistband of your leggings.

"Let's dispense with your –" he suggests softly.

At the very same time, you stiffen, almost yelping, "Don't do that, I'm not wearing any –"

But it's already too late - by the time he stops, your voice is the only one that can still be heard saying, "Panties," as you feel him strip the material expertly down over your bare behind and you know that the reason he's not talking any more is that he's gazing down at your naked butt.

He's either been mesmerized or horrified by the sight, and you're not at all sure you want to know which it is.


	8. Chapter 8

It's been two days since you'd left him and you're back at your apartment, home from work, Lily home from daycare, studiously trying to get your life back to the way it was and seriously worried that – because of one devastatingly sexy, demanding, autocratic, annoying pest of a Norse God – it never will be again.

You're washing the dinner dishes while Lily plays – if not happily, then somewhat contentedly, undoubtedly making something for the next time she sees Loki, which she is quite certain is imminent - at the table behind you, every move you make reminding you of what he did to you in his bedroom. No wonder you can't get him off your mind for the slightest second! But even if you _didn't_ still have a crimson, stinging behind to remember him by, you know that your mind would have constantly drifted back - as it has been doing annoyingly since you'd left him, red faced and red bottomed - to what had seemed like an eternity over what had been, at first, his surprisingly comfortable lap – although you readily conceded that the entire incident was probably not longer than fifteen or twenty minutes.

Daydreaming about it – about him – seems to have become a habit alarmingly quickly. You've been so preoccupied by your memories – him feeding you by hand, him cuddling you in his big bed, Loki with Lily, Loki being terribly dominant with you and yet achingly tender at the same time, somehow, and, to your horror, even that God awful – _pun fully intended_ \- spanking, which seems to appear most often - for the past two days that even your boss has noticed, and she's usually the oblivious type, commenting in a meeting today that you seemed preoccupied.

Yeah, that was one way to put it, you guess. The other way is to say that sitting down – even on a comfily padded office chair – is not a position you are particularly fond of at the moment, so you've also been fidgety, adjusting you position every five minutes at home and at work, but unable to find anyway that is even slightly comfortable besides on your side or your tummy, and wondering why that painful sting hadn't seemed to have faded much, if any, since you first slipped off his lap afterwards.

But then you consider the source, and realize that that's probably a result of his magic, somehow.

At least now you're standing at your kitchen window, which has a wonderful view of the nineteenth century brickwork of the building next door, and is almost close enough that you could reach through said window and touch it.

But that isn't at all what you're seeing, although your eyes are wide open, and your hands are well occupied with that mundane chore.

What your mind is conjuring for you – on a terrible, wonderful loop, it seems - is how horrible you must've looked, bare bottomed like that over Loki's muscled thighs, as he continued to stare down at your unexpectedly naked behind for a truly mortifying length of time.

You were so embarrassed that you were quite sure that even your bottom was already much redder than his efforts would cause it to be – although now, after the fact, you know that that was wishful thinking on your part.

 _Very_ wishful thinking.

But then, you'd said, "My panties were - " No, you didn't want to go there with him. "I just didn't want to wear them another day," you finished lamely.

He wasn't saying anything, and that made you even more nervous than you were before, knowing he's staring down at your ginormous bum, so, instinctively, you reached first one hand back to try to cover yourself, and, finding that you could no longer move that one, sending the other to rescue it without thinking. Once neatly trapped there, they were both gently moved up so that they were out of the range of your bottom, held there by . . .

Nothing, as far as you could tell.

Your exposure, as well as your helplessness – having both been raised to alarming proportions - prompts you to try to get off his lap.

"Stop."

Firm but calm, and you can't help but obey him automatically.

But then his hand came to rest on your naked backside, and you jumped.

You couldn't help it, even though it did nothing more than sit there.

"Is there anything I could do or say that would help you relax?" he asked, his voice soft, almost cajoling.

It only took you a second to respond enthusiastically. " _Yes_ – you could let me go and say, 'I'm only joking. Drive home carefully'."

In your mind, you could see him smiling down at you at you at those words. "If I didn't care a whit about you, that's exactly what I'd do and say. Unfortunately for you, I _do_ care about you – and Lily. I know you don't know me very well, and what you might have heard about me is probably anything but flattering, but, believe it or not, I'm not like this with every woman I meet. I don't do this – this _incredibly intimate_ act, or any other, for that matter – with every woman I meet."

You don't know how to respond to that confession – considering who he is, and despite how he has been with you over the past couple of days, you really have no idea – no sense of – whether it's the truth or not, as much as you might like to think so, so you don't say anything.

And the snarky side of you, of course, is wondering just how you managed to get so "special" as to end up here, when, to your own estimation, you couldn't possibly get any less attractive or more staid and boring than you already are.

"And just like with Lily, when I give you a rule, I expect you to _obey_ it."

"But I am _not_ a child."

Loki chuckled low, that hand rubbing with unexpected gentleness over your bottom. "No, you most definitely aren't. But, as I've said before, that just means that different tactics need to be employed to make certain that you do as you are told – about little things and big ones."

You wanted to ask him more about what he meant, but you didn't get the chance, because at that point, the hand that had been tenderly caressing your bottom instead rose over it.

And fell a few seconds later, with a ferocity that you couldn't have anticipated in your wildest dreams.

There was no slow warm up. There was no build up to it at all. It was awful – every second of it – beginning, middle and end – with middle and end being worse because of the fact that he'd already covered all of the available territory and rounds two through you don't know how many were delivered on skin that had already been set expertly ablaze. Every swat was the same – there was no variation at all – they were all wholly unbearable, making you feel that each time that big hand descended, that he was searing the very flesh beneath his palm and fingers.

And - because you aren't as skinny as you should be – very definitely _disturbing_ . . . other areas with every swat, that provided a kind of counterbalance – slight though it was in comparison – to the pain.

You guessed you should have been glad he hadn't taken your pants down further and scourged the backs of your thighs, but by the time he finished, you couldn't think of much to be thankful for at all, except that it was over.

Of course, the second he stopped, the second there wasn't yet another swat to wail at, another spank that had legs that had been rendered almost as useless as your hands scissor kicking in futile protest, which was about all he would allow them to do – the moment another smack that had had you quickly reduced to begging didn't fall, you tried to get up. He held you there for a few long seconds, his hand on your bottom now just as gentle as before, but you could no longer tolerate it so he left off trying to soothe you in that way.

And, finally, you were free.

You were in the middle of trying to struggle to get away from him, and, of course, you fell onto the floor in an ungainly heap. He rushed to help you, bending down to take your arm, but you had snatched it away from him, and the hand he had put out to help you remained there after you'd loosed yourself from it as he watched you scramble awkwardly away from him, tugging your pants up in an ugly, uncoordinated fashion in favor of getting yourself to a standing position as soon as you could, as one would want to do if one was being confronted by a wolf or a wild dog.

Still facing him, not about to turn your back on him, you were staring at that hand originally, but then your eyes saw something unusual just past that and darted there, and with that sight, your mortification was complete. You just wanted to melt into the ground when you saw it.

And, of course, his eyes followed your stunned ones, and then he saw it, too.

There was a big, dark, wet spot on the front of his gorgeous trousers, and there was no doubt in either of you from where it had originated.

Your hand found its way to your mouth as you began to back away from him, eyes closing quickly against that humiliating sight, backing up blindly until you finally hit the wall next to the door, which you would have darted quickly out of, but for the fact that there was now a big, tall man in front of you, who didn't seem at all eager to let you leave.

At least he wasn't wearing the triumphant grin you expected him to be sporting since he was quite literally _wearing_ the unimpeachable proof of the fact that what he'd done to you had made you wet.

And he was standing a respectable distance away – a little closer than you would have preferred, but not crowding you, not trying to grind himself against you, although you could see that there was proof enough of his own involvement straining against his zipper, not far from where your own damning evidence lay, although he didn't seem at all ashamed to have you know about his own obvious desire for you.

And an impressive bulge it was, too, you thought distractedly, immediately, viciously squelching that thought.

When he spoke, as he reached out a finger beneath your chin so that he could meet eyes that were now full of tears for an entirely different reason than they had been minutes ago – not that that original reason had diminished in the least, it hadn't. It had just been overshadowed by the depths of your shame.

His tone was wonderfully gentle and soft, his words utterly unexpected. "The door next to you is open, as is the front door. You may leave me any time you wish, but I would ask that you listen to me for just a moment longer."

You don't know why, but the earnestness of his words compelled you to stay and hear what he had to say – against your better judgment, but you just couldn't seem to get your legs to move, although you didn't think he had any apart in that, not that you could be totally sure.

You hear him swallow hard, and he waited for a second before he began to speak. "I'm sorry that I had to spank you. If I could, I would bring you nothing but ecstasy and happiness, but I cannot say that I am unhappy to discover that – although I know it was unpleasant for you – my punishing you brought you pleasure, also."

You are no longer looking into those brilliant green eyes of his, unable to because of the acute embarrassment you feel at your body's reaction to him disciplining you. Instead, your chin is down, huge, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, although he reaches out to lift it so that your eyes are back on his as he speaks.

"You and Lily have brought me something – quite unconsciously - that is so much more than what you intended originally, I think, which was simply and honestly to convey your gratitude that I had kept an eye on her for you while she was lost. You have allowed me to be privy to the deep love between you two, and I flatter myself to think that Lily has come to love me, in some small way. And you have given me your trust on so many different levels that it has boggles my mind, while humbling me deeply and captivating my own heart, which I would have said was much too hardened for anyone to affect in such a gentle, positive way." He paused and cleared his throat, and you suddenly had a flash of insight as to just how touched he was by what had transpired between the two of you – the three of you. "I find myself very loathe to relinquish such tender feelings as I have been honored to consider myself a part of for these past few days." He reached out and took your hand, which you were quite obviously reluctant to give him, although he didn't grab or grasp at it, but rather simply tucked his hand beneath it, into your palm, so that yours was kind of riding on top of his, bringing the back of it to his lips for a heartfelt kiss before raising his head, leaving your hand on his. "You might not realize it, because my silver tongue seems to fail me routinely around you, but this is my clumsy way of asking if I might call on you, some time, of an evening?"

His usual eloquence might be in doubt, but his timing was certainly impeccable. You were quite desperate to get out of there, and you would have agreed to let him do pretty much anything to escape his presence, so you found yourself nodding your head at his request, in part because it was your firm belief that – despite the continued and undeniable evidence of his interest - once you were no longer in the fickle God of Mischief and Lies' close orbit, that he would lose interest in the two of you very quickly.

So, although you were still horrified at the possibility that he might actually come to and be _in_ your apartment, you silently agree, not seeing just how elated he looked at your answer because you were so busy avoiding looking at him as much as you could possibly manage to.

He hadn't lied to you about either door, but what you had envisioned as a relatively clean getaway was very easily foiled by one tiny princess, who was beside herself about leaving Loki, to whom she was clinging like a very determined barnacle, practically making herself sick from crying about it.

You were surprised to realize that - as he murmured soft, soothing secrets to her while he held her with an arm beneath her butt and hand at her back, patting her soothingly, forehead to forehead - he was at least as affected as she was by their parting, and you could definitely detect a choked up note in his voice that you hadn't expected to hear at all.

Although you tried not to eavesdrop, they were standing right next to you, so it was hard not to hear what he was saying.

"You are already my very good Princess, but you're going to continue to be that, right, and obey your Mumma?" he whispered, brushing the tear wet curls away from her eyes.

Your little girl nodded, sniffling and crying pitifully at the same time.

"And you're going to be a big help to me and take care of Mumma as much as you can, too, in my stead?"

Another big nod.

His voice caught very noticeably on his next words. "And you know how much I will miss you? And how much I love you, my tiny, sparkling Princess?"

Lily leaned back in his arms a little to look at him, answering with a child's body-and-soul vehemence, "Oh yes, Woki! I do! I wove and miss you, too!" She threw herself against him, wailing and clinging to him.

A big hand stroked her hair soothingly. "And you know that that won't ever change, right, my darling girl? That my love will for you will only ever grow, and it will never, ever go away?"

By this time, your eyes were watery, too, as Lily nodded big.

Then Loki kissed Lily on the forehead, saying,"There's my good girl! I want you to dry your eyes, though, babygirl. Your Mumma says I can come and see you, and I will, I promise."

That brightened her up a bit. "Pwomise, Woki?" she asked solemnly, holding up her tiny little finger to him.

"I promise," he answered, just as solemnly, interlocking his big little finger gently with hers in a terribly endearing pinky swear. "And we always keep our promises, right?"

"Wight!" Lily agreed readily.

"Well then, my dearest love, I'm going to hand you back to Mumma now. You _will_ see me again soon, I promise."

He did just that, and Lily cried a bit more, clinging to you now and waving "bye bye" at Loki, whose eyes flared at you for just a second, then his hand snaked out to curl around the back of your neck and bring you to him for a hard, fast kiss that little fingers didn't get a chance to interfere with, after which he whispered, his nose pressed to yours, "And I will miss you, too, Princess. I won't ask you to miss me, because I don't think – especially at this moment – that you would resist the urge to bite me. So I suppose I shall have to settle for you not forgetting about me."

As if you ever could!


	9. Chapter 9

The dishes had been washed – if somewhat absent-mindedly – and Lily – who really should be in bed by now - is sitting on the floor, coloring on the disreputable coffee table that was old when it was your Mom's when she was in college, and had seen much better days which was one of the reasons why you allow her to use it as yet another art table. You are stretched out on the couch that still shows the battle scars of losing its war against the cat your former roommate had, shredded material hanging forlornly from one arm of it, badly scarred and occasionally bleeding stuffing onto the worn, thread-bare carpet, whose stains remained stubbornly in place no matter how many times you've rented a carpet cleaner to deal with them, as well as the new ones Lily adds on a regular basis, of course. You're quite sure it's more stain than carpet at this point, and that they're the only thing that's holding it together.

You shudder to think too closely about what many of the other stains were, and did your best to buy throw rugs that would cover them, but you don't have anywhere near enough money to do what needs to be done and replace all of the wall to wall carpeting – besides, it's just a place you're renting for a short time, anyway.

Just until you get back on your feet from all of the hospital bills that had accumulated when Lily was born that you're still in the process of repaying.

At least that's what you've been telling yourself all these years since . . .

At least lying down wasn't too horribly uncomfortable, as long as you're on your tummy, or side, as you are, the TV playing yet another rerun of _Dora_ that you could recite from memory, but you've been too preoccupied with your thoughts - that were filled to the brim with a certain tall, dark haired, entirely too eloquent and masculine and dominant God - to bother to change it to something else.

It is into that scene of domestic tranquility that he suddenly inserts himself, appearing just in front of the coffee table, which was to say – in that small room – that he was pretty much in the center of the room, standing there with his hands clasped behind him, looking like something out of a military version of GQ - in all his leathery, armored glory. His eyes find you at first but his appearance makes Lily squeal shrilly as she makes a bee-line for him, to be scooped up in his arms and twirled around in a sparkling swirl, his face as wreathed with smiles as hers is as he then smothers her in loudly smacking kisses that are designed to make her giggle.

And they do.

You rise immediately, not wanting to be lying around in front of him any more – you'd done enough of that while you were at his place for a lifetime - feeling waves of embarrassment flowing over you at the idea that he is actually _seeing_ your apartment. It wasn't that it wasn't clean – it was. That was one of the few things you could do to make it bearable. But beyond that, there could be no comparisons between his and yours, you know, and that just jacked up the attack of nerves that descended upon you the moment he showed up.

You swear you can _feel_ his eyes land on you again when he puts Lily down, who then gloms onto his leg as if she will never let go as his hand settles a top her head, but you push past the embarrassment to an indignation that you purposely fuel: you aren't about to let him think that he can just pop into your apartment like this any time he wants to.

What if you had been naked? Not that you wander around your apartment in that state very often - not much liking to catch sight of yourself in the mirror - but still. It wasn't entirely beyond the realm of possibility.

You try to stoke those feelings as much as you can, reminding yourself of a simple fact:

You are on _your_ turf now, and _you_ make the rules.

Delusional self-deception seems to be the name of the game this evening . . .

"Lily, come here."

It's your Mommy voice, the one Lily knows better than to ignore, and, slowly, with severe reluctance, she leaves off holding onto him and comes to stand by your side, looking up at you as if you're crazy to have asked her to do so.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Laufeyson, that the manner in which you just entered my apartment is entirely unacceptable. I cannot allow you to simply _appear_ in the middle of my living room any time you like." You point to your door, saying firmly, "That is here for a reason – to keep people out until _I_ decide whether or not they can come in. Please respect that, or I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask that you not visit us here."

Just the corners of his mouth are turned up, and you have the disturbing feeling that he's laughing at you, that he knows what you're doing – trying to reclaim some of the control over your life and the things that happen in it that you feel you lost while you were with him – but, even while wearing that all too knowing smile, he remains respectfully quiet during your tirade then bows low from the waist, saying in a tone so deep that it sends shivers down your spine, "My sincerest apologies, Madame. I did not know the proper etiquette."

 _Liar,_ you are thinking, but wisely don't say it. You know he was just hoping that you'd let him get away with it, that you wouldn't challenge him on his autocratic ways.

He then disappears before your eyes – in a pretty burst of pink and green glitter – to Lily's glee. She claps and giggles happily, as if he's just done an amazing magic trick.

And, of course, he has.

Seconds later, you hear an ultra-polite knock at the door and Lily runs to it, and you know she's going to simply throw the door open for him.

"Ah-ahh-ahhhh," you chide, and she stops with her hand just shy of the door knob. This is a perfect teachable moment to reinforce something you wish you didn't have to teach her, but is an unfortunate reality of living where you do. Hell, nowadays, it's an unfortunate reality of living _anywhere_ , especially as a single female, to say nothing of one with a child. "Who decides who comes in?"

As if she knows exactly what you're doing, Lily turns back towards you. "You do."

"And how do I do that?"

"You ast whose it is, and wook thwough the peakhowe, jus' to be suwe, befowe you unwock even one wock," she answers perfectly.

You can't help but smile at her "whose it is", but you are sure to praise her, too, because she got it completely right, if in her own inimitable fashion.

"Perfect, angel," you say with a big, proud smile.

And, because you're teaching her to do this, you go through all of the motions, all the while knowing that everything in this place is made out of spit and toilet paper, including the door, and that Loki can hear every word you say.

"Whose is it?"

You can hear his soft laugh at your use of Lily's creative wording. "'Tis I, Prince Loki, come to see my Princesses after an unacceptably long absence," he says, sounding like something out of an ancient fairy tale.

But then, a lot of what he says and how he says it sounds that way, probably because he really kinda _is_ someone out of an ancient fairy tale.

And you're not sure that you'd qualify two days as unacceptably long, but whatever.

Then you peep through the peephole to see that he's now dressed in a suit that you'd probably have to sell a kidney to buy, complete with gorgeous French cuffs, expensive looking gold cuff links and a beautiful matching scarf.

As you sigh despairingly at how good he looks, knowing you're standing there gawking at him while wearing ancient yoga pants, purple monster feet slippers and a t-shirt that says, "Nama-fucking-ste!", you feel an insistent tug the hem of your t-shirt. "I wanna see Woki frew the peakhowe, Mumma!"

You can again hear his chuckle at that request, but resolutely lean down to pick your daughter up, so that she can peer through the tiny lens, and she promptly dissolves into giggles.

"He's makin' funny faces at me! Wet him in, wet him in!"

You take a quick peek yourself, but as if he knows that it's you now, he stops pulling faces and stares right back at you, wetting his lips covertly – but still somehow obscenely – allowing just the very end of his tongue to be seen peeking from between his lips before you pry yourself away.

Your hands shaking for some unknown reason, you reach up to begin releasing the seven locks that march across the top and down side of the door.

When you get to the last one, you allow Lily to open it and barnstorm right out the door and into him, getting a perverse satisfaction at his loud "Oof!" when she hits him, even if he is faking it.

If nothing else, your tiny little daughter obviously has a very possible future as a line backer for the Jets.

You didn't look at him, turning to head into the flat instead, having given up hope that he wouldn't see it, since he already has.

Although you know damned well that you were within your rights to have said what you did to him that resulted in him ending up in the hallway, you can't keep yourself from issuing a bit of an apology for your tone. "Sorry to go all Darrin Stevens on you, but I'm sure you understand that I just can't have you popping in here willy-nilly."

He came in, Lily in his arms, of course, closing the door behind him.

"Who is Darrin Stevens?" he asks, puzzled. "And who are Willy and Nilly?"

Trying unsuccessfully to hide your amusement, you answer, "Darrin Stevens is a character in an old television show called _Bewitched_ , about his wife, who was a witch, and he spent a lot of time railing about how he never wanted her to use her powers for _any_ reason. And willy-nilly is an expression that means . . . haphazardly, I guess."

"Oh."

You move behind him to set the locks again, but he turns, saying, "There is no need of those while I'm here. I would never allow you or Lily to come to any harm while I'm with you -"

Or not, he thinks, but wisely doesn't say.

"Force of habit," you respond nervously, liking the fact that resetting them gives your hands something to do besides fidget. When you're done, you turn around, still determinedly not looking at him, and ask, "Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Juice? Milk?" Those are his only options. If he wants something else, he'll have to get it himself.

Not that that would be a problem for him . . .

"Coffee would be nice, thank you."

You gratefully head for the kitchen – it's not more than six steps away from him – which would be three for him – but at least you're a bit removed from him in the suddenly very cramped feeling confines of your tiny apartment. He's such a huge presence within it, and you're hyper aware of him – you almost feel as if he's touching you when he's not.

Your sister had given you a Keurig for Christmas a couple of years ago, and kept you stocked with cups on Christmas and your birthday, so at least you could offer him a decent cup of coffee.

If not in a decent mug.

All of your mugs are from Goodwill or were office gifts, but he'd have to lump it, you guess. You remember the beautiful china in his kitchen cupboards and shake your head. Your standard of living and his are so far apart that it's not even funny.

Yet another reason why he shouldn't be here, although he didn't seem to notice in the least that he is standing in a slum. In fact, you peak around the corner at one point, hoping he won't notice that you're doing so, and he'd already sunk down onto the floor with Lily, sitting with those long legs sticking out from under the coffee table she'd been coloring at, his back against the couch and your daughter happily perched on his lap, already wearing his scarf and yet another tiara she didn't own, proudly showing him her colorful masterpieces.

Moving back into the kitchen, you call to him, "How do you take it?" wishing the process took much, much longer.

"Black, thank you. Can I help you with that?" he asks solicitously.

"No, thank you, I'm fine," you answer by rote. The two of you in your tiny kitchen? Constantly running into each other? Uh, no. Definitely not.

"Lills, cocoa?"

The first thing you hear is Lily's usual, "Uh-huh." Then a low murmur, and few short seconds later, you hear, "Yes, please, Mumma," and you have no doubt that the change is the result of someone else's influence over her.

Not a bad influence, in this case – in most cases, you have to grudgingly admit - but an influence nonetheless.

A few minutes later, you bring in two mugs of beverages – one hot for him and the other cooled down considerably so she wouldn't burn her tongue, into the living room, only somewhat reluctantly, setting one down on the end table by Loki, who has elevated his position to the corner of the couch, with Lily scrunched against his side, and the other on the coffee table for her.

You cringe inwardly to see him sitting on that couch – a Prince such as he is in such poor, obviously poverty-stricken surroundings - and you automatically head for the chair you would normally have taken, veering suddenly away from it when your bottom reminds you why you shouldn't be so intrigued by this man, to instead stand behind it, watching your daughter cozying up to the enemy.

To your horror, Lily, of course, catches your abrupt move and giggles, blithely explaining helpfully to Loki, "Mumma won't sit down – eben at wowk. She says she's gibbing it up fow Went and she's 'zausted."

Oh, dear God, the look he gave you – all highly amused and sexy as fuck but somehow understanding, too, at the same time . . . You have to look away or be scorched by it, knowing your cheeks – both sets – are glowing red because of it.

"Giving it up for Lent, hmmmm?" he repeats, eyebrows up. "Well, I can promise your Mumma that, if she'll but sit on my lap, she'll find herself to be extremely comfortable." He patted his lap in invitation.

You put your chin in the air, saying in a tone that is loads braver than you felt, "I'm good, thanks."

His response is immediate. "Don't lie to me, Princess."

The raspy, no-nonsense way he said it has Lily looking at him consideringly, then at you, shaking her head quite seriously for one so young. "No, Mumma, don't wie to Woki. He doesn' wike it."

You have to move or you feel like you'll explode, so you head for the kitchen. "Can I get you some more coffee, Mr. Laufeyson?" you ask hopefully, although you know he's barely had time to touch what you've just brought him.

Loki rises, leaving Lily staring after him from the couch as he meets you in the kitchen, right where you do not want him to be. "No, thank you," he responds quietly, his eyes devouring you while you stand there, unable to look away, and he takes a step towards you that should have made you take a corresponding one back, but there's nowhere to go. Your back's already up against the counter. "A few days ago I was Loki . . ." he points out, barely above a whisper as he comes to stand less than a step from you.

You'd – almost – forgotten how tall and overwhelming he is, but he seems determined to remind you of it.

You desperately grasp at conversational straws other than the one he's suggested. "Can I ask what prompted this visit?"

His eyes search yours, and you see him move his hand in the air just slightly, and you can't keep from flinching a bit away from him – or trying to, and you see him look both startled and horrified that you did that, before he expertly hides both expressions from you, saying smoothly, "I have something of yours that you left behind. I would humbly suggest that you might want to put Lily to bed before I return it to you."

That cryptic remark gets you thinking – and not in a good way – giving you just one more thing to worry about.

Although she's reluctant to go to bed – as always – Lily is extremely happy to have Loki there, in fact, she asks that he put her to bed, since she can sense, somehow, that Mumma is not going to relent any further this evening, despite the presence of their guest.

And she's right. She's been so upset about leaving Loki that you've gone easier on her bedtime the past couple of nights than you ever had in her young life, although you know that that is going to have to stop, and soon.

And you feel more than a twinge of jealousy that she's choosing Loki over you, you of course allow him to do so, deciding to hang back in the kitchen while he does it.

Only Loki's not about to allow you to do that.

As Lily runs ahead of him, eager to show him her room, he reaches out and hooks your arm into his, saying, "I'm sure I shall find Mumma's help in putting you to bed to be quite invaluable," thus dragging you along with him down the short hallway.

One of the first things you'd noticed when you'd gotten back home with Lily was how shabby her room looked in comparison to the one he'd created for her. Oh, there were toys and stuffies galore in it, but most of them were not brand new, and it didn't have a pretty pink canopied bed, or all the beautiful furniture or tiaras or gorgeous new things that Loki's room for her had had.

You might have been unhappy by what you saw, but Lily surprised you in a wonderful way by seeming just as happy to be back in her room as she had been to have been in the other one.

Still, you hate seeing him amidst all of your ingloriously pink poverty.

He does pretty well putting her to bed with very little help from you, although he insists that you lie on your usual side of her once he'd gotten her under the covers, taking the place he'd had when you'd been at his apartment, sitting up against her bookcase headboard with her cuddled to his side, his arm close around her, to read her three stories – ones you can recite along with him even though you can't really see the books – then they both scrunch themselves down in the bed, so that their heads are on her pillows, to stare at you pointedly.

"What?!" you ask when you finally notice their pleading looks.

"You haffa sing, Mumma. Woki doesn' know the wowds."

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes at that, you scrunch yourself down and sing her your special song, with Loki proving her wrong by singing every word with you, which you are surprised to find is something you don't mind at all. He sings beautifully, his lower range complimenting your higher one perfectly.

Then you both kiss her goodnight, although Loki is last and you leave her room to let him say goodnight by himself, in case your little one has any secrets she might like to tell the God who has become her best friend, busying yourself cleaning up the mugs and counter and coffeemaker, then wiping down counters that are already clean again, needing something to keep yourself occupied while you wait for him to reappear, becoming more and more nervous with each second that passes.

When he does, he's managed to sneak up on you again where you're wiping down the coffee table and putting away Lily's coloring books and crayons.

When you straighten up, there he is, practically close enough to kiss you.

 _Why on Earth would you think that?! Cut that out!_

Deciding to be as businesslike as you can, you ask, without looking into his eyes, "So what is it that you have to return to me?" You would have sworn that you'd remembered everything, having done several sweeps of the place before he'd arrived home.

In answer, he holds his hand out towards you in a fist, fingers facing downward, then opens the fist so that the nowhere near small enough hunk of lacy black material he's holding falls down, but not all the way onto the coffee table beneath, since a part of it is looped around his middle finger.

And it's the crotch that's looped there, you note.

You are horrified to realize that it's your panties – the ones you should have been wearing when he spanked you – that he's holding. The ones that you'd worn for too many days, and you'd tucked into a ball and left . . .

All of a sudden you remembered standing in his bathroom that last morning and peeling them down your legs, holding them well away from you by the tips of your index finger and thumb with no small amount of distaste before deciding to put them in the hamper you saw there – just so you wouldn't have to see them again.

You'd remember to grab them before you left, of course.

 _NOT._

Fuck.

Your hands come up cover your flaming face, but mostly your eyes – you cannot possibly look at him – at him _with_ them - right now.

"I assumed you would want them back," he murmurs much too pleasantly. "I took good care of them. I even had them laundered for you . . . . eventually . . ."

Oh, dear God, is he _still talking_? Still putting obscene images in your head that have nothing at all to do with magic and everything to do with how yet _another_ pair of panties are going to need to be laundered – immediately - while he stands there in front of you, blithely saying things like that, that made certain that you are even more mortified than you are turned on, if that is even possible?!

Finally, unable to know that that they were hanging there - from the hand he is still holding between the two of you - for one second longer, you reach out and snatch them away from him.

Your "thank you" is so much less than sincere as to be laughable.

And he does chuckle a bit at it, and you are distracted by that, as well as how you're trying to cram those panties into the uncooperative pockets of your yoga pants, and, never one to miss an opportunity, he takes a step towards you.

When you raise your head and notice just how much closer he is, your immediate reaction is to try to jump back, away from him, but he is much too fast for you, his arm quickly finding its way around your waist – not forcibly pulling you to him, holding you gently – but insistently – in place while he bends down to kiss you with a terrible tenderness, such that you have to fight with your traitorous body not to just surrender to him and let yourself melt against him.

He raises his lips from yours, and you betray yourself – the extent of your involvement in the kiss – immediately by standing there, dreamily, eyes closed, panting softly for a long moment before straightening within his hold, surprised when he lets you go the second you push against it.

He's wearing a soft, self-satisfied smile the entire time, of course. But he lets you go. That's the important thing, you keep telling yourself.

You're backing blindly away from him and end up kind of falling back into the occasional chair that's the best piece of furniture you own – which isn't saying much – with a slight moan from even that soft cushion's contact with your behind.

Loki tsks sympathetically and points his finger at your bottom, where a plush green and gold cushion suddenly appears beneath it, and your bottom instantly feels better.

"For when you cannot – or stubbornly will not – sit where you belong, which is on my lap, my Princess. I wanted you to remember me, and the lesson of the spanking, but not be incapacitated by it. I'm sorry if you have been."

You want to glare at him, but you can't. It's the first time your butt's been comfortable since it and his palm met. Rudely. Multiple times, to the loud and repeated sounds of your discomfort and displeasure.

When you sigh in comfort, he grins broadly – and despite his little apology – unrepentantly, and walks around you, giving the place a once over that has you tensing again, coming to stand behind you and look out the window that has yet another scenic view of the impossibly close building on the other side of you.

Loki comments, but on the somewhat less than genteel poverty of his surroundings. "Is there really a need for so many locks on your door?"

You clear your throat at that, but don't answer him because the answer is much too obvious.

After a moment, he asks quietly, "Is there no better place for you?"

You shrug. "This is what we can afford. It's better than the one bedroom we had until Lily turned two or so, and I wanted her to have her own room. We're all right. We keep quiet, keep our noses clean, and we're as safe as I can make us." You're nervous around him, like you hadn't been for a while, so you run off at the mouth a little, as you usually do when you're uneasy. "Besides, it's all I can do just to keep this place. They keep raising the rent – can you believe it? For this pit?"

Loki comes to stand by your chair, and you close your mouth as soon as you see the unhappy set of his jaw. You know he doesn't like the answers you've giving him, but they're the truth.

"I could – "

You interrupt him, saying very firmly, "No, you couldn't."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" It's obvious that he's not pleased that you interrupted him, and that you shut him down like that, but you would swear that you can see a bit of pride on his face, too, that you want to – and are – independent, however stubborn he considers you to be for doing so.

"You were going to offer to do things for me that would make my life easier."

"Exactly. I don't understand why you wouldn't want me to do that for you, when it costs me nothing to do it, and it would ease my mind – and yours, I'm sure - greatly."

Your answer is immediate and forceful. "I will _not_ be beholding to you – or anyone else. I've been dependant on a man before, and it didn't work out very well. It's better if I just do things myself, then if something goes wrong, I have no one but myself to blame." You add, revealing more than you wish to in doing so, "And no one is around to blame me for the choices I've made, whether they're right or wrong."

Suddenly, he's sitting on the couch and you're sitting on his lap, and you immediately try to get up, but he's not allowing you to. He's not hurting you in any way; he's just not letting you up.

Your hand resting where it doesn't belong on his chest, where it had been pressing to no avail a few seconds earlier, you ask, trying not to sound as if you're pleading with him, and not at all sure you're succeeding, "Loki, I would really prefer it if you didn't use magic on me."

Ignoring the substance of your request, he nuzzles your lips, whispering against them, "That's much better – I much prefer hearing Loki from your lips than Mr. Laufeyson. That sounds entirely too formal, considering . . ."

You belatedly realize with a start that your hand is _still_ on his chest – lying over one of his warm hard, pectoral muscles – and you retract it as if it had been on a hot burner instead, although Loki goes after it and puts it back where it was as he kisses you in a way that makes you wish you could ignore it, but you can't. He's tender and coaxing and firm and demanding all at the same time, somehow, and it's a startlingly intoxicating mix, his other hand curving around your hip to pull you even closer to him.

Eventually, you manage to fight - yourself much more so than him – your way back to sanity and break off the kiss. He doesn't try to force you to continue it, and lets you retreat – a little, at least. But not far.

Your eyes land on him, and you are surprised to see his head bent, as if he's unsure of himself, which you cannot even begin to fathom. He is always supremely, consummately cocksure, this one, and you can't believe he's ever had a moment of self-doubt – certainly not about anything involving you.

But his tone – for all its velvety smoothness – is nowhere near as self-assured when he asks, his head coming up slowly so that he can meet your eyes, "Lovely, will you come out with me one night soon? Let me take you somewhere wonderful for dinner or to the cinema . . . We could go wherever you would like to go and do whatever you would like to do. We could go to Paris, if you fancy that. Or Asgard, or anywhere. Just as long as you are with me."

Loki is asking you out. _Loki_. A _God_ , is asking you out. It truly boggles your mind.

And you can name the place – on this world or others - could do _anything_ your heart desires.

It was too much. Too many choices for a simple, average woman like you, and you're sure you'll bore him to tears after just one date.

Hmmmmm. Perhaps, if you wanted to dissuade him from pursuing you – which you keep telling yourself is what you should want to do - in a manner that wouldn't cause any kind of a scene, then the best thing to do is not to tell him flat out "no", which you know would only make him more persistent, but to actually accept his offer of a date, and just let your purely boring self shine through the entire time. He was sure to run screaming away from you after that, and you'd never see him again.

You know that was what you'd thought once you'd left his place, but he was just a bit more stubborn than you'd planned on.

You staunchly refused to think about the idea of never seeing him again, or to examine any too closely the way that thought made your heart – and other parts of you – ache almost unbearably. Or to consider any too carefully the question of whether you truly wanted him not to be a part of your lives any longer . . .

Biting your lip as he waits with a surprising amount of patience for your response, you look up into his eyes and say, tentatively, "A-all right."

You quickly decide that the look of elation on his face, which was usually quite solemn and serious, is worth any amount of annoyance you might feel at his occasional high-handedness, his pure, unguarded happiness making you inordinately happy, too.

But then – before your eyes – he schooled his features back to their usual mask, asking gravely, "When would be a convenient night?"

"Well, I'd have to get a babysitter for Lily –"

"No, you don't."

You give him a confused look.

"I know you didn't like it while we were in bed together –"

Okay, that sentence is starting out to be entirely too obscene, especially since you didn't really _do_ anything even when you _were_ in bed together –

" – but one of my duplicates would be a perfect babysitter. It would be just as if I was here with her – because I really _would_ be here with her."

Your head hurt just thinking about this, and your eyes close in self-defense.

Loki nibbles at your lips, and you open your eyes to stare into his. "The bottom line is that she will be completely under my protection the entire time." He again doesn't bother to mention that she already always is – as is her Mother – considering your reaction to him using magic on you. "What could be safer?"

You have to give him that. No one you could rustle up in a thousand years would be as loving and attentive and protective of her as any iteration of him would be.

Not trying to hide your hesitance from him in the least, you agree reluctantly, "Okay."

And he looks inordinately pleased with himself – yet again.

"When shall I pick you up?"

How mundane that sounded, but you have to remember from whose lips those words came. You can't imagine that a date with Loki would be ordinary, by any stretch of the imagination.

"Uh, well, date night is traditionally on the weekend, Friday or Saturday night. How about this Friday, then, at around seven?" That would give you the rest of the weekend to recover afterwards. You have a feeling you might need it. You didn't care that you'd just revealed to him that you have no social life to speak of. You suppose the smart thing to do – if you were interested in attracting him, which, of course, you're not – would have been to have told him you'd have to check your social calendar and get back to him, then give him a date well in the future - but you were never a good liar, and you had a feeling that that God of Lies might well have seen through that kind of ploy, anyway.

And you're not much interested in experiencing what he'd do to you if you out and out lied to him.

No, you're just going to be yourself. If your track record was anything to go by, that would turn him off almost instantaneously. You refuse to think about the fact that you'd been yourself – more yourself than you probably should have been at times – the entire time you were sick around him, and he was obviously still interested in you.

But you're sure you're much less scintillating when you're healthy.

Riiiiiiiggghhhhhhttttt.

But that was your strategy, and you were sticking to it.

"I shall be outside your door at the appointed time, my beautiful Princess," he whispers into your ear before nibbling on it, then kissing it.

Then, to your surprise, there was none of the wrestling match you might have expected, with you trying to fend him off. Indeed, he made no effort to try to get you to go to bed with him at all. Instead, he simply held you on his lap for a long while, speaking only in low tones to murmur how wonderful you feel in his arms, how he had missed you terribly even though it had only been two days, and how much he was looking forward to going out with you.

And encouraging you – wordlessly, through his touch - to let go of the tension that had filled your body upon his appearance in your apartment.

Damn, the man's lap was so comfortable it ought to be outlawed – you'd noticed that when you were over it the wrong way – sitting _on_ it was amazing – and you couldn't feel your bottom at all! Plus, his arms are kept safe and warm around you, allowing you to relax in a manner that you almost never had – even in your own apartment - since you'd born Lily, whose health and safety resides in your hands alone, even against her own father.

But with Loki here, you knew from past - forced - experience that she was completely secure with him, and you are able to allow him to shoulder the majority of that responsibility for you for a short time, especially since he seems only too happy to assume it.

Your head lolls onto his broad shoulder as if you can no longer support it, tucked beneath his jaw, and you feel your body slowly ceding control of itself to him, becoming limp in his embrace and his care, unconsciously acknowledging that you, too, are safe with him, when it comes right down to it. You don't doubt that he wants you - he'd never made any attempt to hide that, really. But somehow you know that he'd never force you, and he'd even been amazingly patient and understanding when he'd spanked you.

There's nothing like feeling completely at ease to make one yawn, and you end up issuing a loud one, your hand coming to your mouth too late to cover it up, only able to summon the slightest concern that he might take offense at it.

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry!" you murmur in embarrassment.

But, again, he's understanding, if slightly amused. "I think someone else needs to be put to bed, too. Lily was right. You are ''zausted'."

With that he rises – not waiting for your agreement, very probably knowing he wasn't going to get it - with you tucked safely in his arms to head down the hall and take the door on the left, across from Lily's room.

It's your bedroom, which is the much smaller of the two, and much more sparsely furnished. When you look at it now, through his eyes, you realize it could easily be a nun's cell, except for the lack of a cross over the bed and, instead, the multitude of pictures of Lily that decorated the walls and most flat surfaces, some of which were of her as far back as when she was in her incubator.

Your bed is a twin one, left over from your bedroom at your parents', and you figure lazily that that will be an advantage – there won't be room for your tubby self and him in it, but you should remember that Loki made his own reality, and once he has you safely under the covers, he joins you there, and the bed just seems to . . . accommodate him, by the sheer force of his will.

He turns you onto the side on which he knows you like to sleep, then spoons you – very closely - from behind.

And it feels much, much too good to be held like this. It could be considered a Schedule 1 narcotic, as far as you are concerned.

Loki strokes your hair and rubs your back, and once even dares to reach down to cup your still sore cheeks, but you're so far gone by that point that you barely make the effort to cant your hips away from hands that are quite caring and respectful of their condition, even when he pats them gently, saying, with just a tinge of what sounded like regret, "Someone still has at least one more spanking coming, if I remember correctly."

Aaaaaannnnnnd there went _that_ state of relaxation.

"Loki, no!" You protest, with more than a trace of near sleepiness, trying to remove his arms from around you at that horrible pronouncement, but they are going nowhere without his consent.

"Ah, yes, my sweet. I will not relent from that – it would be tantamount to lying to you, and I will not do that." Those hands are, by now, quite practiced and know all the right spots to get you to relax back against him again, even against your will. "But not tonight. I will take my leave of you now, Princess, despite my acute reluctance to do so – despite how much I want to remain here with you, holding you as you sleep, tucking the bedclothes around you when you thrown them off lest you grow chilled in the night air, waking you gently with my mouth and my hands on your delicious body, bringing you to many, hard, screaming climaxes long before your day has even begun . . . "

A low moan escapes your mouth at the scene he paints within your mind that is just a bit too vivid to be all yours, but you can't seem to find it within yourself to worry about that now.

Instead, you have to worry about the fact that he's turned you so that you face him, so that he can kiss the breath out of you, then standing slowly, keeping his hands and mouth in contact with you as long as they possibly can be – and you can't be sure, but you would swear that you hear a slight whimper when they finally let go of you – but then he straightens and blows you a kiss that, when it might have reached you, you actually _feel_ on your cheek, whispering, "Till Friday, my most beautiful Princess," and then he dissolves in a surprisingly delicate flash of green and gold glitter that settles around you like a thousand more soft kisses, before it, too, disappears.

When he's left, you roll onto your back, realizing that your bottom doesn't hurt quite as much as it did, and that, despite his efforts, you are more awake than you had been, and frown, thinking back on your conversation with him and realizing with a start that the trickster never _did_ agree to not use magic on you . . .

And, the next morning, you are somewhat annoyed – and, if you admit it, somewhat amused, too - to find that the green cushion he gave you last night has a tendency to follow you around, disappearing from where you'd left it in one place in the house – like your occasional chair – only to reappear on the seat of the chair you use at the kitchen table as soon as you begin to sit.

You are relieved to find, however, that at least it doesn't follow you to work, saving many an awkward explanation you might have had to make to your nosey co-workers.


	10. Chapter 10

"So," Loki says, placing his hand on your back to encourage you out the door and away from where his doppelganger – looking ridiculously masculine in that pink haven of a bedroom – is thoroughly engaged in a viciously competitive game of Candyland with Lily, having been given every instruction you could possibly remember, as well as every number you could imagine for you, her doctor, your mother –

He had, of course, very patiently cut you off while you were still rattling them off and showing him where they were, with a gentle hand on your arm. "I know it must be very hard for you to understand, but I _am_ Loki. What I know, he will know, if anything goes wrong. But you need have no worries at all about her this evening, except that she's going to be returned to you more spoiled and cosseted than when you left. I would give my life for hers without a second's hesitation. I hope you know that."

Still somewhat uneasy – because what life does he have, really, since he's just a copy? - you give him a sidelong glance, mumbling, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, hmmm?"

" – where have you decided we should go?" the real Loki – you hope - asks eagerly.

Instead of answering him, you nervously pull at the hem of the only decent dress you own – an entirely too tight for you – for someone your size, anyway - little black dress that you now wish you had never bought, because you're going to be fighting with it for the rest of the evening, you can tell. The hem wants to be around your neck, and the neck wants to be around your waist, and you are sure you're showing entirely too much flesh in between that he has no interest in seeing.

. . .

Although you know that that's wrong, so you revise it in your head – showing entirely too much flesh that you have no interest in him seeing.

Still a lie, but a less obvious one.

But then he catches your hand, stopping you in your tracks and taking you into his arms. He doesn't kiss you at first, instead, pulling you against that strong, tall body of his and just holding you there with a big hand unfurled at your back where it rubs hypnotically, until you relax a little within his embrace.

His mouth tickles the baby hair around your ear as he speaks, but what he's doing to you causes you to barely be able to marshal your mental powers enough to understand what he's saying, not to mention the aural sex that is his voice as he's speaking. "I want this to be an enjoyable evening for you, and if you're uncomfortable, then, despite the fact that you in that dress makes me want to push you back against the wall that's just behind you and take you right here and now, I would prefer if you wore something else. Would you like to change?"

Doing your best to ignore his provocative statements, you would _love_ to change, you think, but that presupposes that you have something else to change into that would come anywhere near appropriate to wear while standing or sitting anywhere near him. You're afraid that sweats and a t-shirt wouldn't go with yet another of his million dollar suits.

So you sigh, and will your eyes not to fill with tears before you look up at him.

But somehow he seems to know what the problem is without you telling him – like the way he intuited your problem with the dress in the first place - and as you're looking down, it changes from one you'd found on sale at T.J. Maxx for less than thirty dollars to something that you are sure is outrageously expensive, and is definitely gorgeous and dressy and classic – a fifties style, all lace cocktail dress – something Audrey Hepburn-ish – in a dark green that compliments his black on black suit perfectly, with a sweetheart neckline and a fuller, swinging skirt. You had no idea how it managed to look so good on you – as if it was made for you - but it did.

But you also know you can't possibly accept it.

"Loki, no!" you sigh, looking up at him, eyes still wet, tears threatening now for an entirely different reason. "I can't wear this!"

"Of course you can," he counters calmly, cupping your cheek. "It's just as sexy – perhaps more so for what it doesn't show – and it'll allow you to relax and enjoy yourself tonight, instead of worrying about what you're giving me an eyeful of, not that I didn't appreciate the gorgeous view."

You continue to resolutely ignore his audacious compliments. "But it's not _mine_."

He looks puzzled. "Who else would it belong to? I made it for you."

"But –"

"No." Soft and quiet, but just as implacable as the rest of his small speech. Catching your chin with his fingers, he commands, his other hand finding your bottom beneath the skirt of the dress with distressing ease, cupping your cheek firmly. "You don't have to keep it once the evening's over, if you don't want to, although I hope you do. But I think that, right now, the words you're searching for are, 'Thank you for the pretty dress, Loki'."

You purse your lips defiantly for a second, and, immediately, the fire in the very bottom he's holding - which had receded completely days ago - begins to flare again, right beneath where his hand has taken hold of that flesh. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?" he asks, managing to look and sound completely innocent, somehow. He even removes his first hand to replace it – on the other side – with his free one – and the stinging your feeling not only remains, but doubles, now that he's affected both sides.

"Loki!" you almost yell, fidgeting against him at the discomfort you're feeling. "Cut it out!"

Pressing soft kisses to your eyelids and cheeks and forehead, he continues with the charade. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetness."

Frowning deeply, you sigh and say what you know he wants to hear. "Thank you for the pretty dress, Loki."

Your backside is instantaneously better, making you growl at him as he grins unrepentantly, then draws your arms around his neck and you into a kiss that has you whimpering and mewling with pleasure, making you feel as if you're floating several feet off the ground, and you wouldn't be at all surprised to look down and see that that was a reality.

His voice a raw, blatant growl, he whispers, "I want to hear much more of that kind of sound from you, although under different circumstances, and I fully intend to, in the near future."

With that promising threat – or threatening promise - you're suddenly on the street – and not your street, either – it's a much better neighborhood, somewhere in Manhattan, maybe?

"So? What did you decide?" he asks again, patiently, taking your hand and tucking it into the curve of his arm as you begin to walk slowly down the street together, and you feel him smoothly adjusting the length of his stride to yours.

You bite your lip. "Well . . . I didn't, really."

He gives you a surprised look.

"I'm sorry!" You feel very guilty that he offered you the moon and the stars, and yet you couldn't come up with anything you wanted to do – all of it seemed like too much bother to put him through, like you would be imposing on him, somehow – oh, you don't know what you were thinking. Just that you weren't able to land on something you knew you wanted to do. "Too many choices, I think. I couldn't pick. Sorry. I'm not usually so indecisive."

He stops the two of you, kissing the backs of the fingers that used to be on his arm and gazing into your eyes. "No need to feel sorry. I understand." Holding both of your hands in his, he suggests softly, "Would you be willing to put yourself into my hands for the evening?"

You have to laugh at that – how could you possibly refuse him when you'd already been in his hands for much longer than that? "Yes, I would."

He looks so happy at your heartfelt response that you wish you could do more to bring that smile to his face.

With your next few steps, you find yourself at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower at night, then up at the top, despite the fact that it's closed, looking out over the lights of Paris, with him standing behind you, holding you tight when you mention you're a little afraid of heights, pointing out various landmarks for you to distract you as you feel the warmth of his tall, lean body suffuse you, then, from there, he brings you to the base of the Matterhorn, wearing a large green cape that he envelopes you in so that you won't notice the cold – then suddenly you are in the middle of some kind of nature preserve in the sunlight somewhere, watching otters at play in the wild, and you find them as hilarious as you always thought you would.

"Enjoying yourself so far?" he asks, his lips nuzzling your ear, and you can detect just the slightest bit of insecurity in his question as he holds you from behind while you're still watching the animals and their antics.

"Oh yes, Paris was gorgeous, as was Switzerland, but I think I like this best."

"I remembered from one of our conversations that you had said that you like otters, but had never seen one except on television." Before you could marvel at his talent for remembering obscure trivia about you, he asks, "Feeling hungry at all?"

You are starving – the otters are looking tasty at this point.

The embarrassing truth is that it's the end of the pay period at work - you'd run out of money on Wednesday, and your next check won't hit until Monday morning. All your bills are paid up to date, but the cupboards are pretty bare. So Lily was eating normally, of course – you always kept her favorite foods around so that she has full, balanced, as healthy as you could make them meals - but you were mostly subsisting on her leftovers, if there were any, ramen, cukes and tap water.

Not that you're about to tell him any of that, of course.

"I could eat," you say, instead, casually, as he tightens his arms around you, which is when your surroundings change again, and you are nowhere you recognize, but you would bet it's not on Earth, standing in front of what looks like a very humble country cottage that seems to have been converted into a small restaurant. You can see the tables through the warm, inviting light in the windows.

Loki detaches from you only enough to hold the door open for you, his hand gentle on the small of your back as he guides you through it.

When you are in what probably was a small living room at one time, an older gentleman comes eagerly out from the back to embrace Loki like a long lost son. There is an obvious affection between the two that you find very comforting to see, since you certainly never saw it between him and any of the Avengers, even Thor.

Loki turns and holds out his arm to you, and you come to stand somewhat shyly within the circle of it but remaining at the very edge, although he won't allow you to maintain any distance between you, pulling you close against his side with an arm around your waist as he introduces you. "My darling, this is Einart. He has known me for entirely too long, since I was a pup, and yet, he loves me anyway."

Einart stage whispers to Loki, "This is the special Princess, my Prince? The one who has a precious Princess of her own?"

Your eyebrows go up at the idea that Loki has obviously already told this man about you.

"The very one, my friend," Loki says proudly.

Einart takes the hand you offer and, instead of shaking it, he kisses the back of it while bowing low to you.

"It is a great pleasure to meet you, Princess. Welcome to our home. The last time Prince Loki was here, he was full of nothing but praise for you and your little one. My wife and I would be honored to meet her sometime, if you would allow it." You blush furiously at that. "Since the Prince loves you, then we love you, too, and we are exceptionally honored to have you here with us this evening." He shows you to a very romantically placed table for two, in a tiny alcove of the room, which then becomes the only seats left in the establishment.

You look around. "What happened to the rest of the tables? Won't he lose out on a lot of customers if they're not available?"

Loki smiles indulgently at you as he pulls out your chair, then takes his own, which is not across from you or even to one side of you, but almost close enough to you that you might bump elbows while you eat, but not quite. "Don't you worry about Einart, my darling. I would never allow him to suffer in any way simply because I very selfishly want to have you all to myself, rather than having to suffer through other male patrons eying you hungrily all evening." His leans closer to you, rumbling near your ear, "That's how _I_ intend to spend _my_ time . . ."

His deep, resonant tone makes you shiver, once.

Hard.

And you know he noticed it, seeing the corners of his lips lift tellingly for a moment as his hungry eyes find yours.

And, although he might be doing exactly what he said he was going to do when you're not looking, you don't feel threatened by it in any way. Instead, beneath his avid gaze, an incredible warmth suffuses you – tinged with just the slightest bit of embarrassment – because you have never been so clearly – so unreservedly - the center of anyone's attention in your life – least of all Brian's – as much as you are Loki's this evening – and, come to think of it, a large majority of any of the time you've spent with him.

It's still a bit unnerving and unsettling, but it's getting better. Sometimes, he looks at you as if you know the secrets to the Universe – even when you're just telling him what you're sure is a terribly boring story about Lily singing a hilariously spot on version of _I Can't Get No Satisfaction_ while the rest of your rather staid family was trying to sing Christmas carols, which he counters with an amazing story of how he and the Avengers saved the world, again - and other times, you glance up casually and your heart stops when your eyes meet his and he doesn't bother to conceal the depths of his feelings for you – with blatant desire beating out all others, at the moment.

So much so that, at one point, while you are still working on an entrée of . . . you're not exactly sure what, but it's incredibly delicious, regardless, he takes your left hand in his and rests the both of them on the prominent muscles of his mid-thigh.

As amazing as the meal is, your appetite deserts you right then and there, his intimate gesture leaving your mouth so parched you have to reach for your drink.

After you take a large swallow of the potent liquor – again, something he told you the name of but that you're having trouble remembering – he disappears the glass, replacing it with what looks like water, although you're learning to know better than to assume that that's what it is, so you decided not to upbraid him for being so high handed and removing alcohol from your choices of beverage.

Especially since he is probably right to do so, not that you'd ever let him know that.

Your hand is still on his thigh, and you want to fidget – or remove it all together, but you can't.

Despite your discreet attempts to reclaim your hand, he won't let go. He's not hurting you, but he is keeping possession of that part of you, his thumb stroking slowly over the back of your hand, when he might as well have been rubbing you between your legs – the effect was very much the same. You desperately want to shift in your chair because of it, but force yourself to remain still.

"All done with dinner?" he asks solicitously, sliding your hand further up his leg towards where his thigh joins his hip.

"Yes, thank you," you croak awkwardly, and you can see him almost smile at your discomfort, but then it's gone and you wonder if the light is just playing tricks on you.

"Did you like it?"

You'd let him order for you – why not? He'd been in charge of everything else tonight, which is not exactly what you'd intended, but you couldn't quite say you'd regretted your decision to put yourself in his hands yet again.

"I did, thank you. No wonder you love this place – great hosts, soft music, a lovely, cozy atmosphere and excellent food!"

"No, my Princess," he corrected softly, bringing your fingers to his lips before tucking them tightly against his hip again, "None of those things have made this place what it is this evening – that is all entirely because of your presence beside me."

You have absolutely no idea what to say to that, so you just sit there and blush to the point that you're sure your head is going to explode.

Loki doesn't seem to notice – he's busy summoning Einart. "My friend, could we please have the Lovers' Delight?"

You have no idea what that is, and you're not at all sure you want to know.

And, when you see it, moments later, when a surprisingly tiny but beautiful platter and matching bowl – in green and gold, of course – is placed on a table that has been magically cleared, you are even more skeptical.

Einart gives each of you a spoon, but Loki plucks yours from your hand and gives it back to the older man, who merely smiles knowingly and heads for the kitchen.

"Am I not eating dessert?" you ask teasingly, "I know I shouldn't want to, since I'm already too –"

"Surely you don't think that I would hesitate to take you over my knee right here, right now, if you finish that sentence in a manner I would not find amusing, lovely," he interrupts with an almost casual warning, although his tone and his expression convey just how serious he is.

You wisely stop talking. There's no way you'd put much of anything past him.

In answer to your query, he dips his spoon into the liquid in the bowl that seemed to have a consistency somewhere between melted ice cream and custard, doing little more than coating what looked like the solid gold spoon, then brings it to hover near your mouth, squeezing the hand that he's still claiming just slightly.

He'd explained every other part of the meal but this, and that made you a bit concerned.

"What – what is it?"

An eyebrow went up. "Do you trust me, Princess?" he asks huskily.

You take a deep breath, eyes on his, and answer, with surprisingly few reservations, "Yes, I do."

He leaned closer to whisper in the sexiest tone imaginable, "Then open your mouth for me like a good girl."

You want to glare at him for talking to you as if you were Lily's age, but you've already obeyed him without thinking. He's already slowly pouring that spoonful onto your waiting tongue and you are well past hooked from the second it touches your flesh.

Every taste bud you own explodes in ecstasy, as if someone married, cheesecake, ice cream, crème brulee, caramel and Belgian chocolate with phenomenal sex, somehow. It's embarrassingly close to an orgasm in your mouth, and you are helpless in its thrall, knowing he is watching you like a hawk as you try to deal with it, a small, self-satisfied smile playing about those sensual lips of his at your sensual struggle.

And then, while you are so pleasantly – and thoroughly - otherwise occupied, he moves your hand – which is still in his – just a bit further to the left and down, leaving it there, alone, to cover his erection, which is of truly massive proportions, and partake himself of the miraculous dessert, while you do your best to try to watch as it affects him, and he makes it very easy for you to do so by turning to insert his leg between yours, bringing you forward, to perch on the edge of your chair, the two of you much closer, face to face – inappropriately so in public, not that you have the will to object.

And then he kisses you, the erotic culinary bliss of what he is feeling and tasting raising the experience to an entirely different plane when he parts your lips and slides his tongue past your teeth, all of those sensations mingling between the two of you for an inordinately long time.

When those overwhelming feelings begin to recede, you are left panting, shaken and shuddering, pressing your forehead to his as the only solid thing in your world, and sighing raggedly as he ends the kiss, and you realize that he has been rhythmically pressing his hips – and thus himself – up and into your hand the entire time, growing exponentially bigger in doing so.

Cupping your cheek in his palm with infinite gentleness, he declares in a voice that is, contrastingly, raw and rough, "My dearest love, I _have_ to have you. Come with me."

Still in the throes of that powerful aphrodisiac – you tell yourself - you watch yourself nod, although you know that, deep down, it's what you want, too, you're none to interested in exploring your thoughts much beyond that.

The second he sees the barest sign of your agreement, you are transported away from the restaurant to end up in what you recognize as his bedroom at the Tower, standing much too close to him.

Only you almost don't – your knees are surprisingly weak for some reason, and you very nearly end up in an inelegant heap on the floor in front of him.

But he would never allow that – as you know from previous experience - and, mid-fall, he catches you up in his arms, bridal style, and lays you down on the bed before him, then joins you there, stretching himself out at your side.

You are still trying to come to grips with that mind blowing dessert and what it's done to you and your inhibitions – as well as your embarrassment at him having to catch you because you couldn't stand up, and now you were feeling just that much more powerless, somehow, as you note that his head rests quite a bit further up the bed than yours is, and his feet much further down it. His size has made you feel protected in the past, but now it's making you feel more vulnerable than anything else.

As if he senses your unease, Loki lifts your chin with a curled finger beneath it, so that your eyes collide. "No, my sweetness. Do not be afraid. It is just me," he murmurs, looking down at you with a depth of affection that takes your breath away as his hand brushes the hair from your face.

You know you will _never, ever_ be able to think of him as "just" Loki.

"I can not bear the touch of fear I see in your eyes, when all I want is to make you feel something that's much more potent than the Lovers' Delight, all within the safety of my arms."

You can't help but smile and pinken even more, confessing huskily, "I don't think I'd survive it."

He leans closer to you, his sweet breath flowing over you as his lips hover near yours. "I shall ensure that you live through every single second of it, my most beautiful love – and so much _more_."


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, when you and Lily arrive home – late, because of an extended visit with your Mom – who fed you lunch, bless her heart, and didn't ask any questions as to why you practically wolfed it down - and a peewee soccer game that went longer than you had intended because of other parents rabidly challenging the coaches - you drop your keys in the heart shaped bowl by the door and head for the kitchen after putting out some crayons and coloring books in the living room for Lily, as well as popping her favorite DVD - _Frozen_ – into the player, which will keep her out of your hair for, if you're lucky, all of two or three minutes.

You dread opening the fridge because you know there's nothing in there for you but yet another cucumber. At this point, if you ever ate one again it would be too soon! And then the wildly inappropriate thought flits through your brain that you don't even avail yourself of them for any of their more . . . interesting uses, and then you blush fire engine red, because, even though you didn't do that before you and Loki became lovers, you most certainly don't need to use any kind of replacement for him at this point!

And besides that, you are quite sure that any _one_ or any _thing_ would fall woefully short of the incredible reality of being intimate with him.

Right on cue, when you're just putting a place setting for her at the table, having already reached blindly into the cupboard for a container of Easy Mac, which you then add water to and stuff into the microwave – your little whirling dervish appears. You're busy feeling seriously guilty about feeding that crap to her, but it's cheap and easy, and with three days to go before you see one cent of your paycheck, you know you'll just have to deal with the guilt and move on.

Not that Lily is going to complain. She'd eat that crap every day, if you'd let her.

Things weren't usually this bad – you tried to put away money for rainy days like this, but everything seemed to hit at once – car registration, inspection, insurance, as well as several not inconsiderable fees for activities Lily enjoyed had decimated the small amount you'd managed to save.

She plops herself down in her chair, with its pink booster seat, still dragging that stuffie Loki had given her around by the neck.

You make a mental note that you need to throw it in the wash some time when she wasn't looking – and pray she didn't notice or she'd want to stand in the laundry room and stare at the dryer until it was done – and you're so deep in thought that you almost miss it when she asks, "Can I hab a fwuit woll up for 'zert?"

Giving her a quizzical look as you reach without looking into the fridge for the bottle of milk you know is right in the door, so you can pour some into her sippy cup distractedly, you say, "I'm sorry, punkin', but you know we don't have any of that stuff until after Mommy gets paid and goes grocery shopping, so Monday night at the earliest."

"But we _do_ got it, Mumma!" she whines stridently.

"We do got – have - what, Lills?" you ask absently, your eyes landing on the stack of bills that are waiting to be paid as they lay at the other end of the table, glaring back at you accusingly, with their bright red "final notice" and "termination of service" and "account overdrawn" notices slapping you in the face every time you looked in their direction.

The microwave beeps and you grab the container with a hot mitt, having learned from experience not to try to bare hand it – then empty the contents onto her pink plate, only half listening to her reply.

"We _do_ got fwuit woll ups!"

Surprised at her unusually insistent tone, you reply calmly, "No, Lilybug, we don't. You _know_ we don't. We're meeses this weekend remember? Meeses like _Stuart Little_. Only poorer."

Much, much, poorer, you mutter under your breath.

" _No_ , Mumma, we do, we do!"

You give her a bit of "Mommy side eye" as a warning. "I'm not having this argument with you, darling girl. I know it's not easy when you don't get everything you want, when you want it, but that's –"

Before you can stop her, your little girl scampers down from her perch at the end of the table and climbs up the cupboards like a monkey, in a devil may care manner that takes your breath away – exactly as you've always tell her she was _not_ to, of course – to stand on the counter and open the snack cupboard she is not _supposed_ to be able to reach.

When you're flush, you keep a small basket full of Mumma approved treats on the counter within her reach – raisins, apples, homemade granola from your friend down the hall, things like that - that, as far as you were concerned, she can eat any time she liked.

But, despite the fact that the snack basket had been empty for some time, the snack cupboard remained verboten for little girls to get into – whether or not there was something for her to pilfer from it.

This time, though, you aren't angry when she throws open its doors.

Instead, you are astonished.

Then Lily proceeds to open all of the rest of the cupboard doors, too.

There is food in _every one of them_ – even the ones you don't use much because they're too tall and inconvenient for you to get to - they are full to bursting, in fact – and with name brand stuff, too, not the store brand crap you usually buy – everything from the coveted roll ups to ketchup to Lily's favorite sugared cereal – which you only buy her on special occasions – to candy and rice and canned veggies and salad dressing . . .

It's the salad dressing that prompts you to look in the fridge, and you don't know how you missed it when you reached in for the milk bottle, but it, too, is crammed full of groceries – more milk, half and half - which you loved to have in your coffee but hadn't had in years because you couldn't afford it, produce – for some reason a big crisp bunch of celery caught your eye, and you grabbed it and held onto it as if you were going to squeeze the life out of it while your wide eyes roved over the remaining bounty - cottage cheese, sour cream, sliced meats, cheeses – and a check of the small freezer above it showed it to be stacked with meats – expensive cuts, like sirloin steak and filet mignon - frozen vegetables and ice cream – your favorite, expensive brand and flavors – plus fudgsicles and popsicles for Lily.

The only thing that isn't there is your big bag of cukes, which was meant to get you through till Monday night.

Still mindlessly clutching the celery as if it held the answers to this bizarre situation, you close the fridge and freezer, then all of the cupboard doors, remaining quiet for a moment, leaning back against the counter, lost in thought, and wondering who could have done this.

Not that you don't already have your sneaking suspicions, so much so that you are suddenly struck by an idea, and, as you are still holding the offending vegetable in a death grip, you open the fridge again.

And there's another bunch of celery there.

Not only had he filled your larder, but he'd made it so that whatever you used would magically be replaced – which only makes you even more incensed.

So you turn your attention to your orange fingered daughter, who has eschewed her spoon – as usual - and is busily feeding herself the day-glo orange mac and cheese one piece of pasta at a time by hand, as she prefers. You know you should insist that she use her spoon, but you are much too preoccupied to correct her at the moment.

She has no place in your growing anger and anxiety, thought, so you keep your tone as light and neutral as you can make it – through clenched teeth. "Lily, my love, how did you know that we had fwui – fruit roll ups?"

She looks up at you and answers without guile, "'Cause I had one las' night."

You ask, with exaggerated patience, as if you didn't already know who was the culprit. "And who gave it to you, hunbun?"

"Woki," came the matter-of-fact answer.

With a sigh that is full of suppressed exasperation, that you do your best to make sure she doesn't take notice of , you put the celery down on the table, slip into your usual seat and ask casually, "But when I left, the cupboards were very empty, Lily. Tell me everything that happened between the time . . . my Loki and I left together, and your Loki put you to bed."

As far as you can tell when you painstakingly – trying to control your temper - piece it together from Lily's spotty remembrances, you're pretty sure that this is how the scene went:

While he was playing with her, sitting at the tiny pink table in the corner of her bedroom – you can just see the big God wedged into one of her tiny pink chairs, those long legs with nowhere at all to go, his knees crammed up near his chin, making her dolls move by themselves at her little tea party just because it makes her laugh – Lily had said conversationally, because they happened to be talking about what her favorite foods were, "Mumma's bein' a payday began this week."

Loki was flummoxed by that statement, having no idea at all what Lily was trying to say, and his face conveyed that to her.

"You know – " Lily expounded helpfully, "begans don' eat meat. Or pwetty much anyfing at all – nuffin' good, anyways."

Finally grasping that "began" meant "vegan", Loki became suspicious, as well as curious, apparently. "And what have _you_ been eating, Princess mine?" he had asked while nibbling delicately on an invisible tea cake.

"I beened eatin' mac 'n cheese 'n chili mac n' stuffs wike that that I don' get less we're bein' poor church meeses."

Fearing the answer, he asked casually, "And what's Mumma been eating?"

Lily had to think hard about that, and Loki didn't like that one bit, although he, too, carefully hid his ire from tiny eyes.

"What'd she have for dinner last night, do you remember?" he prompted gently.

"A cucumbew. The gwofie stowe had a sale on 'em. She got wots."

Loki's face darkened threateningly, although he did it best to hide his expression from the little girl, not wanting her to think he was mad at her. "And for breakfast this morning?"

Lily thought hard again, her cute little face scrunched up tight from doing so. "I don' fink she had anyfing. Coffee. Mumma aways has coffee."

On a hunch, he asked, "Lily, can you show me where Mumma keeps your food?"

Lily nodded big, slipping her little hand into his big one and bringing him into the kitchen.

And you know exactly what he saw – almost completely empty cupboards, but for Lily's food – not a lot of that, either, he was dismayed to see – and ramen. In the fridge, milk, a single egg, cheap juice & a big bag of cukes.

Lily's little story confirmed what you had known from the moment she'd opened those cupboard doors. He did it. He filled your cupboards and your fridge, as if you're some charity case he has to take care of, down to providing you and your daughter with the very basic stuff of life, which you are so obviously failing to do.

The truly transcendent experiences that had transpired between you two last night are easily swept aside in the face of what you consider to be an unforgivably insulting affront to your independence. You grow more pissed off with every second that passes, until you become hell bent on giving him a piece of your mind. You grab up Lily, the celery – for some strange reason - your purse and your keys and head out of your place to stalk down to your friend's flat, where she agrees to watch Lily for a few hours for you, no questions asked – although she does kind of give you a questioning look about the celery . . .

You're so angry that you don't even remember the drive to his apartment, and you don't hesitate for a second to bang loudly on his door once you get there.

"Loki! You let me in right now! This _minute_!" You know you're pressing your luck with him, but you're too pissed to worry about it at the moment. You're going to tell him a thing or two about -

He opens the door immediately, wearing a welcoming smile and standing back to let you rush past him, even as you wave the vegetable around at him like it's a sword.

Closing the door behind you, he tries to step up and pull you into his arms, but you're not having any of it.

Instead, you poke him in the chest with all your might using the stem end of the greenery. "I can take care of my own daughter, thank you very much, Mr. I Am a God Loki Laufeyson! I don't need or want your charity, or payment in trade, or whatever the hell that grand gesture was! You take those magical groceries back – every single one of them! Take it ALL BACK! Right now! IMMEDIATELY!" You're horrified to realize that, by the end of your tirade, you're shrieking at him, but you can't seem to stop.

Before you can react, he corrals you against him with depressing ease, disarming you of the celery sword you'd been wielding – throwing it aside after giving it a jaundiced look that wilts it completely - all while you're still screaming in frustration at the top of your lungs, which is something you'd never done in your life until this very moment.

"Let me go!" you yell, incensed, as he begins to close in on you. You try to kick at him, but you only manage to hurt your foot on his booted shin as his armor melts over him. Then you rear back and catch his eyes, yours narrowing dangerously, despite the warning look in his. "If you don't let me go this minute, I will . . . " Unfortunately, the list of things you think you might be able to do to him is very small, but then you latch onto one. "I'll bite you, I swear I will!" you snarl.

His arms already holding you tight against him, making a silent mockery of your stupid threat, and his answer is swift, his tone no-nonsense in the extreme, those lips of his somehow against your ear, beneath your hair, even as he is inexorably bending you over the knee he's raised by putting his foot up on something that's proving entirely too convenient for that purpose. "Then you shall come to regret that misguided action immediately after having done it, and I can promise you that the punishment you've already received from me will seem like the gentlest of kisses in comparison, my sweet. So I suggest you reconsider that threat, as well as your disrespectful tone and your questionable behavior. Screaming at me like a fishwife will accomplish none of your goals, unless one of those goals is to find yourself reduced to weeping from a very hot, sore bottom within the next few seconds."

Somehow, that's the last straw.

You can't seem to do anything you should be able to do – defend yourself against him or even provide for yourself and your daughter. You know that he was just trying to do something nice – to help you out, although that's not at all how you took it. It's not his fault that you come with more baggage than American Airlines.

With a hiccoughing sigh, you stop fighting him, stop trying to wrestle your way off his knee, even, and just hang there over it, dejectedly, telling yourself that you don't care whether he spanks you or not.

Suddenly, you're no longer in a position that means you're in imminent danger of being punished, but instead you're lying on his bed with him, on your side, facing him.

But as Loki reaches out to pull you into his arms and comfort you, you lean forward to cover your face with your hands and begin to cry heartrendingly, unable to stop yourself despite how much as you don't want to dissolve like this in front of him.

Each sob tears agonizingly at Loki's heart.

Sure, strong arms wrap themselves around you as if you're _not_ a blubbering, ugly-crying mess, and you find yourself held against a wonderfully familiar, warm, hard chest, against which your cheek is pressed in the most tender of fashions, your mind filling involuntarily with the heady, unmistakable scent of him.

And he does nothing more overt than hold you, occasionally murmuring soft nothings and pressing his lips to your temple or forehead as he strokes from the top of your head to just above the bottom he threatened to wreak havoc on a few minutes ago, then back again in a manner that is too damnably soothing for how you're feeling at this point.

You want to stay mad at him, despite the fact that you'd already – mostly – forgiven him. But you can't. The scent of him, the feel of his arms around you, resurrects too many exquisitely vivid memories of what happened between the two of you last night.

You didn't come here intending to end up in bed with him again, and yet here you are.

You try to move, but can't really. He's holding you too tightly – not hurting you, but you're pretty much immobile.

You draw a ragged breath and begin to speak, your face still pressed against his chest. "I'm sorry for screaming at you – I don't know what got me so worked up about what you did, but, Loki, it's the same conversation as the one we had about my apartment when you visited. I'm trying to be independent, do you see? Part of the reason I stayed with Brian when I shouldn't have was that I wasn't at all sure that I could make it by myself, and he kept feeding into that insecurity in me, telling me I'd never make it on my own, that I had to stay with him, that I wasn't good enough or smart enough to be independent, that I'd always be someone's b- burden . . ." You stop because of the way your throat aches from trying to close, trying to suppress the tears those memories bring to the surface, but also you're sick of having to explain your weird reactions to him, which you are quite sure are the exact opposite of a normal woman's – who would probably welcome him lavishing gifts on her - and much more annoying than he ever expected to have to deal with.

And then your ever present guilt forces you to add, "And I certainly don't want you to think that I became involved with you because I wanted a Sugar Daddy."

His lips pressed to the top of your head, you both hear and feel his question, which has nothing to do with what you are talking about.

"And why _have_ you become involved with me, _ma petite_?"

That was much too potent – and distracting - a question.

"That's not what we're talking about here, Loki," you scold, regretting it immediately as you feel your back being pressed into the mattress when he rolls the two of you together, slowly but inexorably, his eyes locked with yours the entire time as he ends up looming over you.

An almost feral smile spreads over his face as you feel his armor clad thigh being pressed between your legs, separating them easily, instantly rendering you just that much more submissive to him as well as flooding your body with much more pleasant memories of him taking you in ways that reduces intimate parts of you to jelly just to think about. "It might not be what _you're_ talking about, Princess, but it's most definitely what _I'm_ talking about."

As powerless as you sometimes felt with him – usually in a very good way – you had learned to trust him – pretty much – and lay a hand on a chest that is suddenly bare beneath it, causing you to retract it as if you'd been scalded, then resolutely put it back where you'd had it, an act which draws a small smile from him.

"Loki, please. This is very important to me. We need to talk about this."

He constantly managed to surprise you, this time in that he didn't moan or bitch or sigh exasperatedly – as you had come to expect in your previous relationship – when you said you want to talk about something that had happened between you.

Although he hadn't moved an inch himself – nor had he allowed you to – you knew that you had his full – serious – attention.

"I appreciate what you were trying to do – more than you will ever know. No one in my life has ever treated me as you have – no one has cared for me so obviously, and I know that this was just another expression of how you feel about me."

A long index finger came up to stroke your cheek, but he remained silent, which was another thing you appreciated incredibly about him.

He _listened_ to you. He didn't try to talk over you and express his own points or feelings – while subtly or not so subtly denigrating yours. He let you talk, and you had seen more than enough evidence – from your conversations with him as well as his actions towards you - that he actually _remembered_ what you said.

Even the stupid, offhand stuff.

Like the otters.

"But I need to do things on my own – even when it's difficult – or when it might be difficult for you to see me struggle."

You could see his expression change - harden slightly - at that pronouncement, and hasten to explain, "Because I never believed that I could make it on my own until I left Brian – and even then, I didn't really think I'd be able to swing it. Brian was right, in some ways. I'd been dependent all my life – first on my Mom and Dad, then on him. But I've been trying to be consciously independent since he and I split – not that I don't accept a little bit of help from my friends now and then, I do, but it's reciprocal - and now, with you – if we're going to be together – I can't have you coming in and rescuing me like that. You have to let me do things on my own – even if – _when_ – I fail miserably at them."

"You just said yourself that you accept help from your friends occasionally," he points out without rancor.

"I do – and if you had left a bag or two of groceries to tide me over, I would have been very grateful and I would have . . . I don't know, cooked you dinner in return next week, when I have actual money – however ridiculous that would be for me to do, since you can eat anything you want anywhere you want any time you want - but it would have been what was to me an acceptable form of reciprocity."

His eyebrow rises. "Then I see no difference -"

"Loki. What you did was not a bag or two of groceries. You practically bought out a grocery store and crammed it into my tiny kitchen, then made sure I'd never run out of anything again!"

The Prince looks entirely unrepentant. "I merely made sure that you would always have what you need . . ."

And, before you can get another word out, the tone of your conversation changes drastically as he slides his hand down to cup your suddenly bare – along with the rest of you - femininity with startling familiarity while nuzzling your nose almost innocently in contrast.

His breath is hot and urgent when he speaks, catching your eyes as he boldly inserts his big, naked body between your legs, bringing you into even more intimate contact, letting you feel the imposing hardness and impressive size of him nudging insistently yet teasingly against you, deliberately slipping up occasionally to rub that broad head over the tip of your exposed clit, and – without a sign of a smile – still managing to look terribly self-satisfied at your every involuntary whimper and groan as he does so.

Then he begins to press himself into you, watching you avidly with every millimeter he gains, one hand pressing your wrists into the mattress above your head as his free hand cups each of your breasts possessively in turn and his hips flex more firmly, continuing in a voice that grows huskier with each word, " . . . just as I did last night, I believe, judging by the fervor with which you screamed my name repeatedly . . . hoarsely . . . chanting it sometimes, under your breath, as if you were praying to me in supplication . . . in submission . . . begging me for that which only I could bestow upon you . . . "

Breath coming raggedly, and unable to stop yourself from writhing beneath him, you moan weakly, "But, Loki, I'm serious!" although you've never meant anything less in your life than those words at this moment.

"So am I," he groans, seating himself fully within you on a long, low, hiss of unadulterated bliss – and was that a shudder you felt? – but you couldn't be sure - as you watch those gorgeous eyes of his close for just a second, before they open again to capture yours, as surely as you are captured beneath him.

How he could speak at a time like this you'll never know, because it's all you can do not to scream and cry and wail outright at all of the sensations he's causing to riot – completely out of your control - within your body. He already knows you too surely, as if you'd been making love together for years, seems to know exactly how to talk to you, how to touch you, how to simply be with you in a manner that is designed to keep you permanently on the edge of ecstasy – even when you're just having a casual conversation.

But now – when you're like this with him – the feelings are so overwhelming and overpowering – no wonder he'd had to stop you from trying to leave him at one point last night, when he was just about to take you for the first time and you felt over awed and almost fearful of him.

The same compulsion is almost getting the better of you now, but you are much too far gone to be able to heed it, although you know in the back of your lust-addled mind that you should, but even if by some miracle you managed to get away from him, you know there's no way your trembling legs would support you.

Or that he'd allow you to get very far.

And speak he did, his deep, firm tone and deliberately provocative words only adding fuel to the fire he'd already stoked into an inferno that threatened to consume you from the inside out, especially when he also began to move powerfully within you at the same time, causing your body to clench at him automatically each time at the loss of him filling you, stretching you just shy of uncomfortably, until the next time he did it, and it is that much worse, yet you can't stop the craving from beginning again as soon as he starts to withdraw . . .

Despite the senselessness he'd brought you to, what he is saying permeates your mind and your soul as you feel you are losing yourself to him – again - more completely than you've ever done with anyone in your life.

"You are _mine_ , my darling Princess – you have been since I first set eyes on you, whether or not you might like to admit that fact."

You know you should shake your head, you should take him to task for being so possessive of you, you should be strong and assert your independence -

But then his fingers find the secret spot that lies between you – just up from where he keeps you connected to him in the most primitive of ways, and begins stroking slowly over that tiny scrap of flesh while continuing to do all of the other things that are hurtling you towards a culmination that you know he won't allow you to avoid.

"You have let me take care of you, and correct you, and make love to you. You've already let me have you – I have seen you in the throes of passion that I brought you to. You have made yourself vulnerable to me when I know you didn't want to be, trusted me with all of you, when I'm sure you had many, many doubts about doing so, but still, you've allowed yourself to become mine, and my heart will always quicken and ache unbearably at the thought of the honor you bestow upon me every time you do so; you will always be uppermost in my mind – before anyone or anything else that pales in comparison to you within my meager world."

You tug and twist, trying to regain control of your hands, but he won't let go, and so you are reduced to undulating against him, barely able to draw a breath as he drives you relentlessly towards your climax, stealing the occasional kiss from your lips, pressing others to your eyelids, forehead and cheeks, suckling hard occasionally at your pink tipped breasts.

"That's it, my love. Surrender to me completely that which is already mine," he encourages with surprising softness, his tone firmer when he continues, "and I shall treat you as such – if I have to empty the contents of every merchant's store into your apartment to ensure that you are well fed and cared for, or post a clone of myself at your door to ensure your safety, then that is what I shall do."

The last coherent part of you that's left wants you to protest at his high-handed words, but the will to do so has completely deserted you.

Then he begins to plunge himself into you with each powerful statement he makes, as if he is reciting vows to you, while unraveling you at the same time.

"I _will_ take care of you."

Three fingers surround your clit knowingly, stroking over it with undisguised purpose as he raises your legs to his shoulders, revealing it even more fully to his eager touch as you keen helplessly beneath him.

"I _will_ protect you with my life - woe betide _anyone_ who hurts you – or our Lily."

You are so close it's almost painful, and he speeds up a bit to meet you.

"I _will_ discipline you when I see fit to do so."

Why that declaration made you clench so hard around him, you didn't want to examine any too closely, but there was no mistaking that it did, and it made him smile in a way that looked more than half evil.

And then, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to achieving your ultimate pleasure, while keeping a tight rein on his own, he vows repeatedly, "And I will _love_ you," as he pushes you past any shred of coherence you might be still futilely clinging to and into a realm where there is just Loki – just him above you, sweating and heaving, reaching for his own end as you scream his name in the midst of your own, spasming so hard around him that you can almost stop him from slamming himself into you – but not really - head thrashing back and forth on the mattress between the frame of your own arms, as your body responds to him before you in everything, as he takes you to innumerable peaks – each stronger and more devastating than the last - until, finally, he has mercy on you and allows his own release, roaring your own name into your ear as he arches wildly into you, teeth clenched and bared as a raw, primitive growl overtakes his infamous silver tongue.

For a long while, he simply lies atop you. Each of you is trying to control your breathing, with limited results, especially on your end. His hands – having loosed yours - stroke your hair absently, and you can feel the breath bellowing out of him where his mouth lies, slack and open, at the crook of your neck.

Until gentle kisses are bestowed there, long before you could ever follow suit for him.

He rolls the two of you again – and you marvel, as you always have – at how he manages to just move you around, when, even though you know he doesn't want to hear it, you're no lightweight.

You end up with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat calming much more quickly than yours, his arm around you, his hand occasionally rubbing up and down your arm or your spine.

Then, as if he's thought of something suddenly, he tips your chin up. "Are you all right? I should have remembered that you are not used to this. Were you terribly sore from last night and I have just made it worse?" he asks, already looking as if he's beating himself up quite thoroughly at the possibility.

But you shake your head. "Don't worry – if you were hurting me, I would have let you know."

The relief on his face almost makes you feel guilty about taking him to task over the food. "Always, please," he whispers fiercely. "You must never hesitate about that. I couldn't bear it if I accidentally hurt you."

"Okay, when you spank me, it hurts, so, no more of that, m'kay?" you supply pertly.

He gives you a scolding look. "That was a very nice try, my darling."

After a short, quiet pause, you bravely say, "Loki, I need you to take back all of those groceries."

His scolding expression turns into a stubborn one as his arm squeezes tight around your waist, "I cannot tell you how my heart leapt in my throat when Lily showed me how little food you had. I could not bear it."

As much as you want to stay there, safe and warm in his arms, in his bazillion dollar apartment, and just give in and let him shoulder all of the responsibility for you and your daughter, you know that that was not the right thing for you to do.

So you sit up resolutely, and begin to rummage on the floor for your clothing. Once gathered, you sit back on the edge of the bed and begin to get dressed.

"Where are you going? Can you not stay the night with me?" he asks, reaching out a fingertip to stroke it down the middle of your bare back, making you shiver, nipples rising and tightening as if trying to attract his attention.

"No, Lily is with a friend – I shouldn't have stayed as long as I have. I need to go get her and put her to bed." You know that's not the real reason you're leaving – you could have called your friend, who would have been only too happy to keep Lily with her as long as you wanted her to.

But that excuse is easier to deal with than the real one.

"I will fetch her for you. She can stay with us – like she did. You need not leave my arms," he cajoles seductively, moving to sit behind you, stretching those long legs out around you, surrounding you with his heat and hardness from behind.

You have to chuckle at that idea. "No – dear God, no! My poor friend would die of a heart attack if you – or one of you - suddenly appeared in her apartment, or Lily suddenly disappeared from it."

"Then we shall go together to get her – " he declares, planting butterfly kisses from your collarbone to just beneath your jaw as he wraps his arms around you.

But you wiggle your way out of them to stand – acknowledging to yourself the reality of the fact that he is _letting_ you do so - then turn to face him, forcing yourself too stand very straight with a resigned sigh, hating what you have to say more than you want to consider at the moment, but you can't see any way out of it.

"No." You take a deep breath and say, without looking at him, as an amount of fear you hadn't expected settled over you, trying to keep your voice from shaking as you did so. "I don't think we should see each other again, Loki." You swallow hard, and force yourself to continue. "I'm sorry, but that's how I feel. This situation is non-negotiable – a deal breaker, as far as I'm concerned, and I can see that you're not going to change your mind about how you feel, and neither am I. So," you continue, feeling like your trembling heart's being ripped slowly out of your chest with every word, "this is it."

Despite how your hand's visibly shaking, you can't resist the impulse to reach down to touch his cheek, barely able to hold back the tears in your eyes as you do so, as the powerful feelings you've developed for him surge past your fear, and you whisper somewhat forlornly, "I hope you find someone wonderful – you deserve to be happy and have love in your life."

He looks dumbstruck and truly horrified at your words, but you're not waiting around for him to go off on you, now that you've said something you know he definitely won't like. Brian was bad enough – you can't – and don't want to – imagine what Loki's like when he's pissed, so you simply turn around and walk away, heading for the door on legs made noodly like by devastating heartbreak and not a little sheer terror.


	12. Chapter 12

But you never quite get there, because as you walk, you feel yourself being turned around and pulled back towards him, to be forced to stand right in front of him, and a quick peek up at him reveals that he looks angrier than Brian ever had – and Brian couldn't banish you to the vacuum of space with a thought – or worse.

You realize something suddenly – that you _can_ move, because you're shifting with uncontrollable nervous energy from foot to foot - what you _can't_ do is move away from him.

Although you're immediately ashamed of doing it, when he raises his hand to you – for some completely innocent purpose, you're sure - you can't stop yourself from automatically cringing away from him and putting your arms up – even more uselessly, you know, than if he was your ex – as if to protect yourself from an impending blow, your eyes darting to his face then down again, not wanting to provoke him any further, even though what you see there is hardly what you have come to expect from a man, in your one and only past experience with your ex.

Loki appears to be devastated even more by your current actions than by the words you'd uttered a few minutes ago in breaking up with him. Any trace of anger you might have seen seconds ago is completely gone. You think there might even have been tears in his eyes, but you can't be sure of that – to say nothing of the fact that you severely doubted it - and you're still not about to risk making eye contact again. Nothing had enraged Brian more than you daring to look at him when he was already infuriated enough to manhandle you, all while expertly wielding the ever present threat of physical harm to keep you cowed.

Before you have a chance to react any more than that, you find yourself tenderly scooped up into Loki's arms, and he takes the few steps to the big couch, sitting down carefully – as if you are infinitely breakable - to hold you close, lips buried in the hair at your temple, then the top of your head as he holds you against his chest.

For a long moment, he says nothing, and you simply sit there, shaking like a dog at the vet's office, his arms tightening around you with every shudder that wracks your body as he does his best to try to soothe you.

"Oh, my darling love, I am so, so sorry," he whispers eventually, beginning to rock you slightly, slowly. It's another long silence before he murmurs, "I cannot live with the thought that I have made you afraid of me." He presses petal soft kisses into your hair, then on your face. "I have always meant to reassure you – when you've voiced your concerns about Lily's safety with me in the past – that you were just as precious to me as she is, but I seem to have failed entirely in that endeavor. I am sorry. Please forgive me. I never meant to let you think for a second that I would _ever, ever_ hurt you. If I appeared angry at all, it was never meant to be aimed at you, but rather myself, for having been idiotic enough to make you feel you need ever flee me." He sighed heavily. "And now I've made you afraid of me, too."

Still trembling violently, your head tucked beneath his chin, you force yourself to venture tentatively, because you can't bear him thinking that this was all on him, either, "It – it's n-not just y-you, Loki. It's n-not even really you at all. It's a – a programmed reaction from . . . from b-before."

Loki stills completely beneath you. "You mean the scum who abused you?" He refuses to refer to Brian by name.

"Yes." Your whisper is so soft, you doubt a human male could have heard it.

"Oh, babygirl," he sighs, cuddling you even closer, if that's even possible.

Although he hadn't asked for more of an explanation, you can't seem to prevent yourself from supplying one. "You seemed angry, especially when you pulled me back from the door, and, when you put your hand up, I just – reacted automatically to it, the way I would have with him when he was mad." You swallow hard. "He – he never really hit me, but, like you, he was so much bigger and stronger than I was -. And he would threaten me with it quite often. He just . . . enjoyed making me cringe in fear any time he could."

Loki made a sound like nothing you've ever heard before – that of a predator that is both wounded and furious, a savagely potent, snarled groan that should have made you even more afraid of him, but for some reason, it doesn't, because you know it's not meant for you.

After a long moment of squeezing you tightly to him, Loki's hold relaxes a bit, and he presses his forehead to yours, saying softly, patiently, "I'm going to cup your cheek, lovely, because I want your eyes on mine."

You're still a bit shaky – more aftermath than actual fear – but your heart is warmed, knowing he is telling you what he's going to do so you won't be scared. And he is exquisitely gentle, tilting your head back just a bit so that you're staring up into those stormy, surprisingly damp eyes. "I would never let any _one_ or any _thing_ harm you – least of all myself. I would lay down my life for yours without a second's hesitation. Seeing you cower away from me made my heart shrivel in my chest that I had made you feel that you need fear me in any way. I just cannot _bear_ that thought, my love." He draws a deep breath and continues, "I adore you – and before you think it, yes, I adore Lily, too, but she is not the reason I fell in love with you – _you_ are."

You bite your lip and dare to look a bit doubtful about that, earning a raised eyebrow for your efforts.

"If I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, then I shall, and with great pleasure." He nuzzles his nose to yours, then whispers, seconds before doing so, "I've got to kiss you, sweetheart."

It is the most tender, soft, yet passionate kiss you've ever received, and by the time he pulls away, just the slightest, your trembling has stopped completely. Your eyes are closed, and you're breathing raggedly, but for a very different reason than before.

"I understand that I might have overstepped my bounds about the food a bit –" he begins.

Feeling more yourself, you pipe bravely up with, "A _bit_?"

That got you a hard hug. "As I said, I might, perhaps, be willing to concede that I went overboard. But – as it is a struggle for you to be independent, it is a struggle for me not to remove every possible obstacle from your life that might make you even the slightest bit unhappy. I would, you know, if you'd let me." He tipped your chin back up and met your eyes. "I can give you anything your heart has ever desired – and so much more. Neither you nor Lily would ever know a second of need or want, because your every wish would be fulfilled, almost before you thought it."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Can you imagine how much of a terror Lily would become if her life was like that?"

He gives you a doubtful look. "It is my firm belief that she is incapable of becoming a nasty, spoiled child, but then we would both be around to make certain that that didn't happen."

"If you're just giving her everything she wants, all the time, how could it _not_ happen?" you counter. "Hell, I'm sure I'd become an obnoxious git myself if my every little whim was catered to."

Loki fixes you with a scolding gaze that has behind it the barest hint of a smile. "And I am quite sure you can imagine exactly how I would go about preventing just such an eventuality."

Your entire body flushes with the heat of your blush at his words.

You try to sit up and he lets you, although his arms remain loose around you, as if he's ready to reel you back into him if you should try to escape.

"Loki, I cannot have you doing things like this for me. It wouldn't be good for either of us. Can you promise me that you will never do it again?"

He looks as dubious as you had a few seconds ago, although he says, "I would be willing to do my best to curb those impulses, my darling, because – despite what you must think - I _am_ very proud of your fierce independence – it's given you Lily, and gotten you away from that obnoxious, fetid worm, and sent you to me – when I know you truly did fear me – that day to thank me."

His tone becomes a bit firmer. "But I will not lie to you, even if it drives you way from me. I am who I am, and there are limits as to what I will allow you to go through. I will always be there to defend you if I feel you are being threatened in any way. And, considering my powers and the way I feel about you, I can hardly be asked to allow you to starve to death."

You feel yourself enough to roll your eyes at him. "As I said before, we – especially me – are highly unlikely to starve to death any time s -" you begin, only to be interrupted by someone sliding his hands down to pat firmly – awfully close to a swat – your already very uncomfortable backside.

"Be careful of what you say about your deliciously curvy form, Princess mine," he warns softly, his eyes full of tenderness nonetheless.

"Well, as long as you're willing to think – very carefully - before you do something like that again, to remember that it's very important to me to take care of myself, I guess I can forgive you."

You know that he's trying to suppress a smile when he responds with a distinctly sarcastic edge, "Thank you ever so much, dearest," which earns him a smack on the shoulder as he loses the battle not to grin broadly at you. "I cannot believe I'm with one of the few women on Midgard who has no interest in taking full advantage of everything I can give her and do for her," he muses ruefully.

You cock your head at him. "You have a fairly jaundiced view of Midgardian women, Mr. Laufeyson."

Loki shrugs. "I can only go by my own experiences, which lead me to believe that you should already be living in my rooms at the palace on Asgard – or at the very least here - more than happy to let me shower you and your daughter with gifts and reveling in all of the various types of splendor I can offer."

You snort derisively at that, making as if to get off his lap. "Sorry, not sorry. If that's the kind of woman you want, Loki, I have no doubt there are hordes of them out there who would be only too willing to -"

You find yourself beneath him in an instant, held powerless and abruptly, dizzyingly vulnerable to him, groaning and whimpering frantically as he fills you with himself seconds later while gazing down at you with a stern expression on the beautiful face that looms over you. "I intend to do anything I need to to convince you that -" he withdraws quickly then snaps his hips forward powerfully, forcing a guttural moan from you, "I have absolutely no interest in hordes of women, or even just one other woman." He leans down to capture a nipple between those sharp, white teeth. "You -" he claims you again, almost violently, " - are the only - " another powerful thrust – "woman I want. Now," you clutch at him desperately as his fingers find your clit and he continues to emphasize his words by surging strongly into you, "and _forever_. And the _sooner_ you come to _accept_ that, the more _comfortably_ you'll be _sitting_ in the future . . ." he reaches down, beneath you, to squeeze one generous globe in his hand, sending you arching away from the way he's reviving that horrible searing feeling you had when he was still spanking you, which sends you slamming up into him.

That's all it takes for you to explode beneath him as he watches you avidly, drinking every unguarded, uncontrolled moment of you writhing and keening wildly beneath him. By deliberately adjusting his rhythm and the way he's stroking your clit to keep you nearly at the height of your pleasure, he allows you no respite as he continues to fuck you hard, driving you beyond crazy beneath him, desperate for him to stop – but horrified at the idea that he actually might – adoring the strength and power with which he's taking you, holding you in place for his possession, forcing you to peak after peak before finally having mercy and allowing himself his own violent release.

In the heady aftermath – and the even headier afterglow – he remains on top of you, holding you, still rocking against you as if he didn't want it to end, head bowed, dark hair curtaining a face that rests against your breast, his lips pressing feather light kisses to your skin as he murmurs something under his breath you can't really hear - some kind of prayerful chant - as he works his way slowly, reverently up, over all of that sensitive skin until his lips hover over yours and, catching your eye, he very deliberately repeats – in an achingly poignant whisper - what he's been saying so that you can hear it.

" _I love you so_."

His kiss is the most profound you've ever received, stunned as you are to hear him say it properly even though he'd been calling you his love in various ways for longer than he should have.

When he lifts his head again to look into your eyes, he whispers, "I am sorry, but I had to say it properly – I have been holding it back for so long it has become almost painful to do so – even more so since I very nearly lost you tonight. But I do not expect anything in return from you," he hastens to add. "I do not want you feeling pressured in any way to say the same thing back to me. I like to think that I know how hard it will be for you to feel that way about any man -"

You press a finger to his lips. "Loki! Please don't say you're sorry when you're telling me something as wonderful as the fact that you love me. I only wish I felt could say it back to you, but I'm not quite there yet, although," you glance up at him shyly, "I don't think you'll have too long to wait. But please know how . . ." your eyes fill then overflow with tears that you don't even bother to try to dash away, looking deeply into his as they stream down your face, "how incredibly touched I am by . . . your love, and everything about you and how you are with me. Even the annoying stuff is terribly endearing to me." Your small hand cups his cheek and he closes his eyes at your touch, his big hand closing over yours as he holds your hand to his face.

"How you feel about me – about Lily, too – has been evident for a very long time in the way you treat the both of us." You lean up to kiss him in a manner that you hope is anywhere near as soulful as the way he just kissed you. "I'm honored and touched and my heart is breaking and singing at the same time. I know what I'm saying is terribly inadequate, considering what you've confessed to me, but I just want you to know that I . . . I have very strong feelings for you, too, or I would never, ever be able to be here with you. You've changed my life in such wonderful ways . . . you've given me more of a life than I ever expected to have. Thank you for . . . for being so patient and understanding about how . . . broken I am in some ways, and for believing that I'm worth waiting for."

He wraps you in his arms, breathing roughly, unshed tears in his own eyes, "You are worth waiting a thousand lifetimes for – and more, my darling Princess."

For the longest time, you two simply lie there in each other's arms, not feeling the need to do anything more ambitious than that, simply enjoying touching and being touched, kissing and being kissed.

But eventually, real life seeps in to the cozy, fantasy cocoon he's so skillfully spun around you.

"I'm afraid that I have to go collect Lily, my handsome Prince," you say softly. He beams so brightly at your endearment – the first you think you've ever used with him - that you wish you'd started doing that much sooner.

And although you know he doesn't want you to go, he doesn't give you any hassle about it. "I understand," he says, kissing you one, last devastatingly lingering time, then standing to help you up. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

You chuckle, grabbing his hand and heading for the door, just as reluctant to end it as he is, if not more, and wanting to be in any kind of physical contact with him you can as long as you possibly can. "No, thanks," you chuckle. "That's what this whole thing has been about – you wanting to help too much!"

He gives you an indulgent look. "My offer stands, however – we could go get her together and bring her back here . . . ?" he suggests, pulling you into his arms again when you've reached your destination.

You pop up onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips, hugging him as tightly as you can. "Thank you, but no. I've been working extra shifts this week and I want to eek out some quiet, Mommy and Lily time this before she crashes, if she hasn't already done that."

Loki nods, although you can feel how much he doesn't want to let you go, holding onto you and kissing you and touching you – literally – until the door closes behind you. And you find that you're no better than he is - you take about three steps down the hall, then turn back, and as soon as you get to it, the door opens again and he hauls you back into his arms for another long, torrid embrace that very nearly ends in you getting fucked again, up against the door, but you manage to extract yourself – barely – and actually make it to your car this time, although you can feel his ever-hungry presence with you all the way back home.


	13. Chapter 13

You had finally gotten Lily into bed – after a bit of an overtired meltdown. It had been days since either of you had seen Loki, and although you'd tried to explain his absence to her – all the while kind of wishing you could have a tantrum about it yourself, you realized with a start, even though you understood that he was off doing good deeds with the Avengers and was unable to be there – she just wouldn't accept it, finally falling asleep still sobbing his name pitifully.

Determined to bring your unusually raging hormones under control, you grab a shower, realizing as soon as the soap was in your hand that that probably wasn't a good idea – the moment you felt the slickness of your hands on your own body, they brought back vivid, sensual memories of how his hands had felt in their place and only left you more restless and longing for him even more than when you'd started.

Scrunching under the covers of your lonely single bed, your body throbs in a way that lets you know that you're not likely to get any sleep this evening if you're not going to address its needs first.

As soon as you admit that to yourself as you reach for the lube you keep in the nightstand drawer, memories of your first time together – in particular - flood through your all too eager brain . . .

Lying on your back in his bed, you were still under the effects of that dessert, which you really didn't even need, as well as his very potent kisses, your body one big, sensitive, impatient nerve that would have you begging him to touch you if you allowed it.

But when those terribly nimble big fingers reach for the delicate row of buttons that paraded down the front of the dress he's made for you, marching quickly down them until they're open all the way to the hem, your mind comes rapidly to the forefront – blowing past all of his compliments and the powerful aphrodisiac of the dessert and his hungry looks – all at once and for the first time in quite a while. And that is not a good thing, bringing with it all of your worries and concerns and feelings of inadequacy and insecurity, making you doubt every wonderful thing he's ever said about you to the point that you grab his hand, holding it tightly in your suddenly cold, clammy ones – both indications of the depth of nervousness you've managed to achieve in such a short time.

Loki looked up at you questioningly, hands rubbing gently up and down your arms, raising even more goose flesh wherever he touches you. "Are you alright, my darling?"

Desperate to give him a reason to leave his bed that he might accept easily, so as not to completely break down in front of him, you sit up suddenly, fibbing, "I need to use the facilities, please."

His expression a bit worried, Loki nonetheless moved to let you go.

You notice as you're leaving that your dress is gaping open, showing off not only the decrepit state of your underthings – having no money to go out and buy new ones for just this potential situation - but also a fair amount of flesh you'd prefer not to put on display – which is your motivation for leaving him at such an inopportune time - grabbing the blanket off the bed to cover yourself as you hurry away from him.

In the bathroom, you don't bother to lock the door, knowing that it would be a useless gesture anyway, and it might arouse his suspicions. You turn on the faucet, sit down on the toilet, put your head in your hands and just sob, as quietly as you can, while your mind continues to diligently work on sabotaging any inroads he might have made – or that you might have made yourself – towards you feeling better about how you look.

As well as the absurd idea that you might, somehow, maybe, even be a fit lover for someone like him.

But, realistically, how could you possibly even _be_ here – with him out there, expecting you to make love with him – to allow yourself to be naked in front of him? What kind of a fantasy world were you living in? He was a _God_. You are an emotionally damaged and so-physically-imperfect-as-to-be-ridiculous human – a mutt, with no breeding or background of any kind whatsoever.

The bottom line was, that you couldn't begin to fathom the actuality of allowing him to see you completely naked. It just . . . could _not_ be done. It was bad enough that he'd inadvertently seen your butt. You wouldn't be able to live through the shame of him seeing the shape you're in – or rather _not_ in. Maybe in a few years, when you've lost weigh and hit the gym you'd be a bit more acceptable . . . but even then, so not.

Besides, he deserved better – much better - than you, on so many levels . . .

"My love? Are you all right?" You can hear the genuine concern in his voice, and, somehow, you know without seeing it that he's standing directly on the other side of the door, his hand lying on it as gently as if he was touching you instead. And you also know that as soon as you answer him, he'll be able to tell that you've been crying.

"I – I -" you fight back sobs. "I'm sorry, Loki. You're so w-wonderful and sweet and g-generous and kind to me, but I don't . . . I don't think I can do this."

You don't hear an exasperated sigh or any other sign of him being done with you and your neuroses – as you might have expected from your previous mate. You don't hear anything, until he says quietly but firmly, "Dearest, I'm going to open the door now."

You barely have time to grab for the blanket, which has ended up on the floor, before he does. You're clutching it to you, up under your chin as the door swings open, feeling a little better because you know that he can't see anything of what he would certainly consider to be your repugnant ugliness.

To your surprise, he doesn't rush in to hold you. In fact, he actually backs up a couple of paces, then holds his hand out. "Come to me, please."

By his tone – and despite the nicety of the "please", you know that it's not really a request. It's an order. Gently given, but an order none the less.

Still, you're not at all sure you can – or even should – obey him.

But your body apparently knows its master and has no such reservations, since your traitor feet are already making their way – however hesitantly - towards him, although your hand is not out to his – it – along with your other hand – is too busy trying to make sure that every bit of yourself remains covered – especially since, you note with no small amount of trepidation, that your dress – and everything else you used to be wearing - seems to have deserted you entirely at some point, and you are well and truly naked behind it.

You glare up at him, but his calm expression doesn't change, even though he has to have been the reason you lost that small defense against him.

When you are standing a few steps away from him, you stop, growling angrily, "Loki, I want my clothes back!"

He looks truly remorseful as he says, "I'm sorry, lovely. I made it for you to wear while we were out. But now it will just get in the way, so I removed it."

You want to continue to be livid at that, to take him to task for being so high-handed, but then he does something you never expected in a million years.

He sinks – oh-so-gracefully, of course – to his knees before you, gazing up at you with unadulterated adoration in his eyes – then leaning over to move the blanket away from where it has pooled on your feet, pressing butterfly kisses to the area he has just revealed, and repeating that process as he gathers more and more of the material into his hands – addressing your ankles and calves in the same way, licking his way up to your knees – giving the same treatment to the very sensitive area behind them, too – making your breath catch in your throat, despite how nervous and uncomfortable you're still feeling about what was happening.

Then he leans back a little, locking his eyes with yours as he keeps a hold of the bottom of the blanket, beginning to tug at it slowly, and no matter how desperately you clutch at it, you can't seem to clench your fists tight enough to retain it.

You are forced to slowly relinquish the blanket inch by inch, thus revealing yourself – with all of your horrible, completely unacceptable imperfections – to him; each miniscule loss of cover eliciting tiny mewls of distress from the back of your throat that cause him to whisper, "Shh, shh, shh," in an attempt to soothe you. And what he's doing to you is also happening to him, so he is revealed to you, too; his suit dissolving bit by bit, until the blanket falls completely out of your hands, and you stand before him – and he kneels before you – completely naked.

You try to bend down to snatch the blanket out of his hands, but it disappears before you can get to it, and he commands quietly, "No, my darling. There is no need for you to hide yourself from me."

Although it helped that he had kept his eyes scrupulously on yours throughout, your hands automatically try to replace the blanket in strategic areas – with absolutely no success, and you're really only making things worse, you realize, but you can't seem to control the need to shield some of you – any of you that you could manage - from him.

His voice is low and strangely comforting as he reaches out to move your hands away, prying them from your body carefully but inexorably, until he is holding them at your sides, but still looking only into your eyes.

"I know that this is very hard for you, my darling, because I have my own misgivings about how I look."

Your eyebrows practically find your hairline at that. "That's ridiculous! You're gorgeous!"

He blushes, then says with a small smile, "I flatter myself to think that you see me that way because you are looking at me through the eyes of love. But the truth is that I am tall and thin and pale, and nowhere near as pleasing to look at as my brother is – at least, that seemed to be the prevailing judgment of most of the young females on Asgard, especially as we were growing up. I am not as well muscled as he is, my shoulders are not as wide as his, and I do not possess his strength, nor will I inherit Asgard."

"But you're smart and you're very skilled with knives and you have your magic. I'd take you over him every time," you said, trying to bolster him as he so often did for you, and knowing in your heart the absolute truth of what you'd said.

Another somehow beautiful blush – as opposed to what you know are you own blotchy, ruddy red ones. "I am, indeed, glad to hear that, Princess."

You see his eyes beginning to wander down your body, and you automatically tense and try to cringe away from him, but he won't allow it. Even from a kneeling position, he is so big and strong that he can still control you completely.

"No, sweetheart, do not shy away from my eyes. I want to feast on you this first time I'm seeing your beauty so stunningly revealed. The mere sight of you is almost enough to bring me to satisfaction this very moment, against my will."

Although you listen and look for signs of mocking in his tone and expression, you find absolutely none – just open, honest reverence. But still, the tears are back with a vengeance as you can feel him looking at parts of you that you can't stand to know he's seeing.

"No, you can't possibly mean that!"

He looked up at you again. "You doubt my word when you can see the obvious evidence of my weeping arousal before you?"

Discounting that out of hand, you sobbingly admit to him the basis of your feelings. "Brian . . . he didn't want me while I was pregnant. He said I was an ugly, fat hippo – I turned him off completely, and he kept calling me that afterwards, too – making sure I knew that it was my fault that he didn't want me anymore, because I hadn't been able to lose the baby weight. But I was spending all of my time in the hospital with Lily and eating badly from the stress – and he didn't like that breasts were always full of milk for her, and they leaked sometimes, and, afterwards, my stomach was still all stretched out – oooh!"

Loki interrupts your anxious babbling by simply leaning forward and burying his face in the soft flesh of your belly, kissing it, as well as the unsightly, silvery stretch marks on either side of your navel, keeping you still when you would have wrenched yourself violently away from him, letting your hands go to your sides but not allowing you to move them anyway as he placed his own on your tummy with infinite gentleness, as if you were pregnant now with his child instead, whispering huskily, his words filled with awe, "This is where our Lily grew. How could I think less of you – of the changes to your body – that resulted in the miracle that is that darling girl? _My_ darling girl," he corrected. "She is beautiful, but you are even more so to me, in no small part because of what you had to go through to have her, to say nothing of afterwards. I wish I had been there to support you and cosset and spoil you through your pregnancy, and especially when things were bad with Lily, when you needed it the most." Then he caught your eyes again. "There is truly no part of you that I could ever think of as ugly, my love."

"But you are so perfect! You're gorgeous! You're a billion on a scale of 1 – 10. I'm –" you were smart enough to stop before you got yourself into trouble. " - not, " you finished lamely.

"Despite your flattery, I am most certainly not, and for far more serious reasons than I admitted to you previously." His eyes darted from yours, then back again, and he seemed almost nervous about what he was going to say. "I am a true monster. I am hideous. There are parts of me you have not seen, that you might never see because I am so deeply ashamed of them."

You are intrigued and wanted to pursue that topic, but he is on to you, as usual, recognizing that you're using your curiosity about what he'd just revealed about himself to deflect attention from yourself.

"So you are not the only one who feels insecure about your looks. But you – you have nothing to worry about. As you can clearly see –" he gestures towards his rampant erection, beneath which is a small dark stain of his pre-cum on the carpet, " - I adore every single inch of you – some inches more than others . . ." He winks slyly, rising to stand before you, curving an arm around you and slowly but insistently taking you with him as he turned towards the bed. "Come. Let imperfect me love imperfect you before I lose the thin threat of my control completely and unman myself in front of you. I will take care of you and everything else. I don't want you to think of anything but what is happening between us, what I am doing to your delicious body, and you are not to listen to anyone – especially yourself – but me. All you are allowed to do is concentrate on how you feel, although I do charge you with telling me if anything I do is not to your liking."

In a single, elegant movement, he tucked you beneath him as he guides you onto the bed, ignoring your reluctance and immediately latching onto a nipple that instantly began to ache and swell within the warm, wet cavern of his mouth and under the tender lash of his tongue, causing all of those sensual emotions you'd pushed aside in favor of concentrating on your insecurities came roaring back, the strength of which had you groaning and arching up uncontrollably, offering him even more of yourself as you began to pant loudly from his efforts.

Alone in your room as you remember this scene in your head, your fingers crept to your own nipples, using them to mimic how he had suckled at you so avidly that night, cupping your breasts and squeezing them as he had as he nibbled at those taut tips with the edges of his teeth to make you squeal . . .

It was as if he had hypnotized you or something – or perhaps you had actually allowed yourself to do as he'd asked, but there were no further instances of your rampant insecurities taking you over.

All you could think about was him, your body more alive under his knowing touch and loving – but hungry - gaze than it had ever been.

You had never felt worshipped before, but Loki's attitude and actions left no room for doubt that that was exactly what he was doing to you.

Not wanting this to be one-sided, though, your hands crept up to cup his face as he kissed you. He immediately turned his head to press his nose into the palm of your right hand, kissing the center and holding it against him as his eyes drifted slowly, blissfully shut.

But then those long fingers encircled your wrist, his others finding its mate and bringing them together in one hand, then drawing the both of them over your head as you struggled futiley to reclaim them.

You figured he'd magic them there so that you couldn't move them, but you were wrong.

He wasn't going to make it that easy for you, holding them there as he spoke, his deliberate words stoking the fires of lust that already raged within you.

"As much as I adore your touch – and I do – and I wish you to feel completely at ease with touching me any time – and," his tone lowered an octave or so for the next word, "any _where_ , I was not exaggerating the fact that I am extremely . .. susceptible to your charms, and your hands on me would surely lead to me finding my own ecstasy in a humiliatingly short amount of time. But I do not wish mine to precede yours. So you must keep your hands above your head, my dear, or I will flip you over onto your tummy and thrash that pretty, plump bottom of yours."

Just about everything he said had you blushing furiously, especially the bit about your behind and what he planned to do to it if you disobeyed him.

But you found yourself desperately wanting to touch him, to say nothing of the fact that you were sure that there were going to be times ahead that you might want to stop him or move his hand, and you told him as much.

"Later, when we have had more time together, I will allow you free reign to touch me when we lay together, for that is something I crave very deeply, too." Then he gave you one of those terribly dominant looks. "But as to your latter concerns, I do not _want_ you to stop me or move my hand, not that you'd be able to do either, anyway, you realize. You may ask me to do so, and I might comply with your wishes." A mischievous grin spread across his face. "But then again, I may well not."

You whimpered at that pronouncement as he leaned back, on his side next to you, one big hand lying between breasts that were begging for his more of his attentions, tips hard and hot and swollen, still damp from his mouth.

Then he began to draw it down the center of your body, his eyes moving from yours to where his hand was and back again frequently, keeping a close eye on your reactions and, as his hand passed over your stomach and it's looser skin, you began to struggle, wanting to dislodge his hand, but he successfully diverted your attention by taking an impudent nipple into his mouth.

You immediately forgot to worry about him touching an area that you wished he wouldn't in favor of drowning in the almost violent sensations it seemed only he could bring to you.

Bold fingertips brushed along your lower belly, just above the sparse patch of hair.

"Sorry," you whispered, embarrassed.

"About what, angel?" He gave you quizzical look.

"Not doing some neatening for you down there. I wanted to but I couldn't afford it."

Loki dropped a kiss directly onto that soft thicket. "You need not change yourself so on my account, nor will I have you spending money you do have to make yourself appealing to me when you are already everything I could ever want in a woman."

"Loki, stop!"

With a barely there smile, he stated boldly, "I adore the sound of my name on your lips, but I know I shall love it even more when you are screaming it in ecstasy."

His fingers followed that natural triangle to its apex, but your legs remained closed, silently denying him access to your most private places.

Rather than force the issue, Loki ran his fingers lazily up the seam that your clenched legs created, painting your skin with his fingertips, massaging you slowly, and relaxing you almost against your will and causing you to move your legs naturally, restlessly as he touched you, not making any demands but simply enjoying your body, murmuring about the softness of your skin as your nipples tightened further the longer he dallied.

Eventually, you forgot to keep your legs closed, and his hand sought access to your secret places again, claiming them in a lazy, almost casual manner before you had a chance to realize or worry about what he was doing.

"Loki – no," you groaned, and a hand automatically drifted down of its own accord. You didn't even try to pull him away from you; you simply wrapped your fingers as far as they would go around his muscled forearm.

Almost regretfully, Loki murmured, "Ah, my darling, you have disobeyed me. What did I say I would do if you didn't keep your hands above your head?"

You released him immediately, knowing it was already too late, knowing that even if your hand had only ever made a millimeter past your hairline, he would have known, and the result would have been the same for you.

You're so nervous – and embarrassed, for some reason, and more than a bit excited, if you're willing to admit it to yourself - that you can't quite say the words.

"Answer me, beauty," he scolds mildly.

"You - " Your voice is so hoarse you barely recognize it, barely above a whisper. "You said – that you -" your lip is nearly bitten through as his eyes settle on you heavily, but offering no assistance whatsoever. "You'd flip me – me over and - " even more softly, "spank me."

As you said the words – finally – he put you into the exact position he'd said he would, and you found you couldn't move from it no matter how hard you tried.

"That's not quite what I said, is it?" he quizzed pointedly, a big hand lying over the crests of your exposed backside.

You're blushing so hard you think you might faint. He wasn't going to make you say _those_ _exact_ words, was he?

But apparently he was, and you certainly didn't want to press your luck about how long he'd wait to hear them, either.

"When I ask you to tell me what I said, Princess, I expect you to do so without any selective editing. I shan't spank you for that tonight, but remember it in future, as I will not continue to be quite so forgiving. What – _exactly_ – did I tell you was going to happen to you if you were disobedient?"

Good grief, he was going to kill you with this! He knew the perfect things to say to make you drip onto the sheets beneath you, and he did it in the sexiest voice you'd ever heard, one that had you shivering - and not with cold.

Closing your eyes and scrunching up your face, you said it all quickly, like ripping off a band aid. "You said that you were going to flip me over and thrash my pretty, plump bottom."

As you enunciated the last word, his hand rose above you and you could feel the cool air in place of it, until it came down, and the spanking began.

And that was the last time for a while that your bottom was going to feel cool.

It was at least as bad as the one he'd given you before – shorter, but harder – and you could do nothing to negate the swats as they landed, either, not for lack of trying. You kicked up, once, hitting his hand and interrupting the smack he was delivering.

He didn't get angry at you or yell or anything. He simply put your leg down again. Of course, you went to raise it again – as he lifted his arm again – but you couldn't move it, or its neighbor.

It seemed to go on forever, every inch of your behind feeing the searing scourge of the flat of his palm.

Suddenly, you were on your back again, sore butt resting as gingerly as you could make it on the sheets, his hand – the same one with which he had spanked you – finding its way between your legs again, and this time you dared not reach down for any reason.

"Open your legs more for me, dearest," he whispered against the side of your face.

You whimpered, but did as you were told, and he claimed you fully the moment you did. You could feel those long fingers covering all of you, the heel of his palm resting somewhere near the top of your lips – much too close to your clit for comfort - and you contracted once – hard – just at the thought of what he was doing to you.

But when he began to follow the path of your swollen lips up and down, pressing his middle finger past those two puffy folds, you couldn't help but jump a bit.

With his other hand, he began to brush the hair back from your face. "Try to relax, my darling. Remember that all I want to do – more than anything I've ever wanted to do in my life - is pleasure you. I want to learn what makes you wild, what gets you wet, what will make you beg me for release . . . "

You know that his finger has already been bathed in your wetness, and that fact has already caused a broad, self-satisfied smile to bloom on his lips.

"I think we can safely say – based on this evidence as well as how you reacted to your first punishment – that being spanked is definitely one of the things that makes you wet."

Your entire turned scarlet with embarrassment at that pronouncement, but you could hardly dispute it when he literally wore the evidence against you – in both cases.

Then he brought that very wet finger to his lips, licking it very diligently, deliberately clean as you watched, mesmerized by something you knew you ought to be looking away from, but you couldn't.

And not because of his magic, either.

It was his total, unselfconscious, unapologetic commitment to pleasure, to enjoyment at pretty much any cost, that kept you watching him indulging himself in a way that he must've known you'd find outrageous – especially because the loud noises and groans he made as he licked himself clean of your juices made it sound as if they were pure ambrosia.

"In a few minutes, I intend to taste you even more fully, although it will sorely test the strength of my will to do so." He replaced his fingers right where they had been, this time invading you more completely, allowing his middle finger to – very gently – slip inside you as he watched you like a hawk.

Your breathing is already ragged, but it becomes worse as a series of whimpers and mewls struggle out of your throat while you find yourself slowly but thoroughly occupied by him. Loki groaned when he had taken as much of you as he could. Although he had seen for himself the undisputed evidence of your pregnancy, he asked outrageously, "Have you fibbed to me? You had to have adopted Lily. You are very nearly untried, my sweet, you clutch at me, milking my finger in a way that I can barely tolerate because I'm imagining how it will feel it's my cock you're clutching at instead."

He removed it quickly, as if his words were no lie, fingertips dabbing themselves into the flow of your wetness and moving upwards along your cleft.

When they first find your clit, stroking over it once as you pant and plead wordlessly, then surrounding it knowingly, your body went rigid beneath them.

And, as you are replaying your memories, you very nearly do, too, at the thought of those moments in which he had first touched you so intimately as you hold yourself open, trying to recreate those feelings without him, fingers brushing lightly over yourself, your greedy body straining for more as you had with him . . .

But he merely teased you, not allowing you the firmer contact you craved, no matter how you arched your hips up wantonly, seeking your own end.

Loki laughed softly, playing you perfectly, bringing you to the very edge then delving back down to press two fingers into you experimentally, and you gasp at the sensations he's invoking.

It doesn't hurt, exactly, but you definitely feel stretched.

You feel . . . occupied. As if your body is no longer your own.

And it isn't, of course.

It's his, to do with as he pleases.

You are so vocal about how he's making you feel as he slowly penetrates you, groaning and even gasping occasionally, that he stops halfway, asking, "My love, are you all right?"

Beyond words, sounds coming from your mouth that you've never made before, primitive, animalistic sounds, you settle for nodding, trying not to notice that triumphant smile of his.

"I'm glad. When the time comes, I would not want to cause you any discomfort, and I am . . . considerably better endowed than my fingers can really represent. That is usually a good thing, but you are nearly virginal – which I find perversely appealing, for some reason – and I feel the need to prepare you a bit."

Once he'd lodged his fingers entirely within you – so far that you could feel the knuckles of his other fingers pressing against your outer lips - he began to pump them into you quite vigorously, and you nearly lost it right then and there.

You're so oblivious to your surroundings – so completely focused on what he's doing to you – that you don't even notice that he's changed positions until you feel his mouth seal itself over your clit while his fingers continue to fuck you.

The cry you emit as he does that is unrecognizable as your own, although no one else could have made it. And once he found himself there, where he'd second most ever like to be, he devoured you unrelentingly, sucking and licking, stroking and rubbing and worrying your little pearl with his lips and tongue until he could feel your muscles tightening, feel the storm gathering that he'd been creating within you, driving you further up that peak until you were very nearly ready to go over the edge –

And – when you are just about there yourself – your phone rings, and you know it's him. The errant thought that you should make his ringtone, "When I Think About You, I Touch Myself," flits through your mind, but he didn't really need the ego boost that that would no doubt provide him.

Regardless, he had terrible timing.

You punch the green button on your phone almost angrily, and before you can say anything, he rumbles into your ear, "Were you being naughty just now, my Princess?"

You feel as if you've been caught doing something you oughtn't, but then throw that feeling away instantly, not that you don't still feel embarrassed, but a flippant comment comes flying out of your mouth anyway.

"Define 'naughty'."

You loved making him laugh.

But then you ask the question you really want to know the answer to. "How would you know if I'm being . . ." you don't know exactly why, but you're somehow reluctant to repeat the word, "that . . . if you can't read my mind?"

Just as you had told him that he couldn't simply appear in your apartment, and that you didn't much like him using magic on you, you had also told him – in no uncertain terms – that he, even if he had the ability, he was not to read your mind at any time. Ever. Period.

His unrepentant chuckle skittered along your already sensitized nerve endings. "I did not read your mind. But, because of how strongly attached to you I am, I will always be able to feel any strong emotions you have, and that connection goes both ways, so you may well begin to have an empathy for mine, too, if to a much smaller extent. And the longer we are together, the stronger our bond will become." There were other aspects to the bond, too, but he chose not to go into them at the moment, as you might not be much of a fan of them.

"Oh. Well, thank you for not violating my trust."

"You are welcome," he replied formally. "But you didn't answer my question."

"What question?" you asked in your most fake-innocent voice.

"Do I need to come there and give you a spanking?" Loki returned, almost casually.

"NO!"

He laughed at the vehemence of your response.

"I don't think that what I was doing was -" you blushed furiously as you forced yourself to say the word. " -naughty."

"That's for me to decide," he growled. "What, exactly, were you doing?"

You squirmed, even though he couldn't see it. "I was . . . uh, masturbating."

His groan made you want to groan in return.

"I had a hunch that that was it." It was more than a hunch – he had felt the strength of your need the moment he'd gotten close to Midgard, and had been sporting an almost painfully throbbing and inconvenient reaction to the waves of lust you were projecting ever since then. "I would have come to you, so that I could take over that delightful pursuit from you, but then I remembered that you do not favor me popping in on you unannounced, and I did not want to cause you any undue stress or alarm."

But if ever there was a good reason for him to simply appear in her bedroom, this was it, and, if his scruples were all he had had to rely on, he would already be inside you.

Your feelings, however, are of much, much more import to him virtually than anything else, and he is loathe to defy one of the very few parameters you have set for him, considering who he is, and that is what kept him in his flat.

"But, since I had thought, perhaps, that that was what was going on, I couldn't begin to entertain the idea of giving up the opportunity to be with you – in a manner of speaking – when you do this. The next time, I _will_ be there, and I will avidly watch every single second. But this will do for the time being."

You could hear him moving around a bit, and thought he might be making himself comfortable on his big bed.

Probably – you realized – he was making himself _very_ comfortable, in ways that got you even hotter, if that was possible.

"So, my darling, tell me what you were thinking of before I so rudely interrupted you."

"Loki!"

Is if he really was there, he can feel the heat of your body rising as you blush, but he pauses, waiting for you to obey him.

"Did I make the mistake of making you feel that you have a choice about answering me, lovely?" The question was softly whispered directly into your head. The phone that was propped up against your ear had nothing whatever to do with it.

You would swear he was there, so strongly you would have sworn you could you feel his presence next to you.

"I was thinking about . . . our first time together."

"Mmmmmmmmm. Absolutely delicious scenes I have frequently brought to my own mind – and we already have so many of them to choose from. Go on."

You blushed to think of him thinking of the same things you had been. "You were perfect to me - for me that night, even when I freaked out a bit."

"I could not bear the sounds of you crying alone in the bathroom, so concerned and worried about something you needn't be. My heart hurt terribly for you, although I wasn't about to allow you to leave me. And I shall thoroughly enjoy teaching you things that will please me greatly, and help you completely overcome your unnecessary reticence about me seeing your beautiful body."

Not wanting to talk about how idiotically you had acted, you admit instead, "You drove me utterly crazy. It was as if we had been making love for years – you just . . . knew the exact right things to do and say. You always do with me."

"I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to hear that you think that so. Where, exactly, were you in your reverie?" he asks, again, already knowing the answer. "Beginning? Middle? End?"

Flushing again, you say, shyly, "Very near the end."

"Oh, dear, I do have atrocious timing, don't I? I am terribly sorry." In truth, he knew exactly how close you were – it was reflect in his own flesh - and he had had to race to his flat as soon as they arrived back to Avengers Tower – ignoring offers to join his comrades, who were going to go out to eat and then probably to a bar – in order to call you.

"Well. Let's see if we can get you back there, hmmmm?"

"With you? On the phone?" you squeak.

He chuckled at you again. "Yes. I could come to you, but I find I am enjoying the novelty of this strange communications method – of not being able to see you, hearing only your dulcet voice in my ear, which, I can assure you, is more than enough to pique my interest."

"Oh."

After a short pause, he warned, "Answer my question, angel. I do not appreciate being made to prompt you constantly about that when you should obey me immediately. I would suggest that you do not get used to me reminding you to respond to me, because if, in future, you do not – the first time – you will quickly find yourself over my lap, being punished for not having done so."

You sniff indignantly into the phone – ignoring how your body was responding to what he'd said, and in such a potently dominant voice - trying to recall what his question was, and then remembering that he wanted you to tell him exactly what you were picturing in your mind when he called.

"I can't say that kind of stuff to you!"

Although he found your relative innocence to be charming – and a bit of a turn on – he is firm. "Of course you can, and you will."

Sighing, you began, "You were . . . uh . . . between my legs."

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Wonderful," he drawled. "What was I doing?"

Your voice cracked as you answered, "Uh – um . . . your mouth . . . it was . . . ah . . ."

Loki took pity on you, surprisingly, whispering huskily, "I was buffing that little pearl of yours with my tongue, was I not?"

A slight whimper is the only answer you're capable of.

"Tell me, are your hands between your legs, Princess? Are you holding yourself open for me, so that I can see what you're doing to yourself?"

Son of a – "Yes," you whisper.

"That's good. And is your body weeping for me yet?" With his mind's eye, as he had physical grip on himself, eyes closed while he's lying back on his lonely bed, he can concentrate and see what you are doing.

Yet, he asked? ALWAYS.

"Oh, yes," you sigh.

"If I remember correctly, at the same time my mouth was loving you, my fingers were buried deep inside you, and I was fucking you with them - quite hard. Did you enjoy that?"

You nearly draw blood as you bit your lip while you moaned, although you tried to keep it quiet, "Christ, yes!"

Intuitively, he whispered, "Don't worry about Lily hearing you. She can't. You needn't deny yourself on that count. And I love to hear the sounds you make when you are the most mine."

You only half hear him, but take to heart the idea that Lily won't know, becoming immediately much more vocal.

"That's it," he encourages. "But I stopped before you wanted me to, didn't I?"

"Yes," you snarl, remembering how badly you ached as he withdrew from you.

"But then I made it up to you – made it even better?"

"Dear God, yes!" There were no words to describe the things you had felt as he nudged the broad, pre-slickened head of himself firmly up against your entrance. You knew it was going to be a tight fit, but you had no idea just how excruciatingly tight it would be.

And he was surprisingly relentless, not pausing, not stopping at all, but filling you slowly and completely as he forced you to remain widely splayed beneath him, pinned, vulnerable, overpowered and overwhelmed - taken, in the purest sense of the word, and loving every single second of it.

As he began to withdraw, his fingers had found you again.

And now, as he spoke to you and you were alone in your room, you would swear that it felt as if it was his fingers that are touching you and not your own, and that you were being stretched to capacity by the dominating presence of his thick, hard cock.

"A little faster," he coaxes, and you adjust your speed – or . . . one of you does, anyway, and suddenly you are knocking on the door to a level of sheer bliss that you are very certain you will never get used to.

"That's it – don't stop and don't hold back or I will know. Surrender to me. I want to hear you cum hard for me."

And you did – groaning his name, chanting it as the uncontrollable spasms wracked your body.

Seconds later, you hear your own name as it's torn violently from his lips, quite certain you could feel his hips jerking powerfully against yours while his seed burst from him within your depths.

Barely able to recover, but forcing himself to do so quickly, he commands, even through his breathlessness, "Don't you dare stop those talented little fingers of yours until I tell you you may."

He had discovered that you were capable of almost infinite orgasms, and had exhausted you with them that night until you fell asleep in his arms, practically mid-cum.

It took some talking this time, too, but you finally got him to let you stop after seven incredible orgasms.

While you were trying to recover, you could almost feel his arms around you.

"Are you all right, my lovely?" he asks.

In response, you wiggle your fingers up and down between your lips as a sign that you're probably not, making him laugh.

There's a companionable silence between you for a long moment, and then you murmur, before you lose your nerve, your eyes filling with unexpected tears, "I've missed you terribly, Loki."

"And I you, my darling love. When may I come see you? Tomorrow?"

"Yes, please. I'm not the only one who's missed you, either. Someone had a complete meltdown today because you she hadn't seen you in so long."

"I am sorry. I shall do my best to make it up to the two of you tomorrow." His register deepened. "Especially you, my Princess."

"Wow – I think you already did that!"

Loki snorted derisively. "Not nearly enough to even begin to sate my ever present desire for you."

"Nor mine for you, my Prince."

He groaned at that. "Do not be surprised if you awaken in the night to find yourself pinned to your bed, your body already full of me, my darling. I shall try to be good and allow you to sleep, but you know how bad I am at delayed gratification."

"What's keeping you there?"

You had no sooner uttered the sentence than he was there, fully capable and fully inside you, growling possessively, "I thought you'd never ask."


	14. Chapter 14

Things are going so well between you and Loki – you are absolutely floating on air. He's everything you could ever dream of wanting in a man – thoughtful, attentive, generous – to a fault – always putting you – and Lily - first, and such a devastatingly good lover that you think you're going to die each time he gives you that look that always ends up with you helplessly begging him to stop – and always, endlessly clinging to him, screaming his name to the Heavens.

On top of all that, he adores Lily just as obviously – and unashamedly – as he does you, perpetually enchanted by every little thing about her.

But being involved with someone – even a powerful Norse God – could be challenging with a smart, inquisitive child around – especially one who is used to having her mother all to herself. Although she's been a bit bratty on occasion, to this point, she's never evinced any jealousy towards Loki at all, even though he usurps a lot of the time you used to spend with her.

She did, however, mange to expose your parenting errors – usually in a rather glaring way, of course.

One evening, his "littlest Princess" – as Loki had taken to calling her, with a knowing smile at you every time he did it, since you had assumed the role of his "darling Princess" - had been put to bed by the both of you, which she seems to enjoy immensely.

The two of you are about to go to bed, but not the tiny twin you usually slept in, because his feet would definitely have hung off the end of it. So when he stays with you – which is most nights, except when he was out saving the world – he arranges things more to his liking, making both the bed and the room bigger, and much, much better appointed.

You had objected at first, but had not been allowed to continue to do so, since this was merely an illusion, not a permanent state or gift, as he pointed out. Not that he wouldn't be very happy to continue it for you – you knew he would in a second – but he understood you well enough to know now that that was not what you would want, and since the celery incident, he had done his best to back off smothering you with help – even when you knew that he really wanted to - and you had noticed and thanked him for doing so.

When he's gone, though, you're back in your cramped little bedroom.

He is nearly always insatiable – instead of his attraction to you falling off after you became intimate, it seemed to have spiraled practically out of control - and although you are still quite shy with him – which he seems to find endearing rather than annoying, you've been amazed to find - it is always frighteningly easy for him to coax you into relaxing with him.

And sometimes it's much less coaxing than demanding, depending somewhat on his mood, but you have a feeling that he mostly bases his decision about how he's going to handle you more on his instincts or impressions about what you need at the moment – to be made love to slowly, thoroughly, to be exquisitely cherished, with excruciating attention paid to every single bit of you, or whether you need to be possessed, hard and fast, challenging your submission to him occasionally, playing the God more truly with you then than he ever does at any other time, bringing that thrill to your heart – and parts much lower - that sends you soaring within the confines of his arms, always feeling his true love for you, even when he does have you entirely vulnerable before him, as if you are to be sacrificed to his rapacious lust for you.

And this night is no different. As soon as you make it down the hall to your room, he lets you precede him inside with a courtly bow before he closes the door and leans back against it, his hands tucked behind him, following you with tenderly greedy eyes. You make your way to your bureau, where you reach for a sleep shirt, but your hand is instantly stayed by a firm command issued from the door – particularly because of his judicious use of your first name.

Since he most often prefers to use loving endearments with you, hearing your name in his deep, dominant tone is just that much more powerful to you, actually tightening your nipples and making your entire body contract.

"Do not bother with that which you do not need, and what's more you know you will not be allowed to keep. Save your coverings for when I am absent. If you would allow me to care for you as I should," he levers himself away from the door and comes to take the nightgown out of your hands, dropping it back into the drawer then closing it and fixing you with a gaze that is filled with unbridled desire, "you would have closet full of exquisite clothes that you would never be allowed to wear . . . around me."

Head down, his gaze sizzling out from under his lowered brow, he moves towards you until he brings himself in direct contact with you from shoulders to knees, continuing to advance forward – and thus walking you backwards - until you hit the edge of the bed.

You allow yourself to be crowded even further backwards, falling onto the mattress while being held by him as you do, since he is ever conscious of your safety and comfort. But then Loki is on top of you practically before your back hits the mattress, driving deeply into you, hurling you towards your climax quickly, in a manner that was both wild and methodical at the same time, somehow. But then he suddenly turns over onto his back, taking you with him, maintaining your intimate connection and showing you how he likes you to move on him as he revels in the sight of you above him, breasts bobbing and heaving, skin glowing, panting heavily as you work towards your mutual ecstasy while he laces his fingers with yours, holding your hands down and meeting your every descent with a bone jarring thrust that has you growling loudly each time he does it. And wearing a blindingly triumphant grin at having driven you so far from your usually proper self that you would do so - secure in the knowledge that the room is completely soundproof –

"Mumma! I wanna tell you somefin!"

But not littlest Princess-proof, obviously.

You gasp and throw yourself violently away from him – which is _exactly_ what you have always promised yourself that you would never do if this unlikely situation ever cropped up, not wanting your daughter to grow up thinking that sex is a dirty or shameful thing – but it's instinctive.

Loki doesn't let you get far, though, pulling you to him instead, saying in a comforting whisper, "Calm yourself, my love. She sees only what I want her to see, which is the two of us lying peacefully in bed, your head on my shoulder - nothing she oughtn't. And as soon as we assume that position, the illusion will fade without her ever knowing she's seen one."

"Thank you," you breathe on a sigh of relief. As much as you might not like the idea of them, sometimes his magical abilities came in damned handy.

He lies back a bit. "You might want to hold off thanking me, because I am about to correct our precocious little girl."

Although it warms your heart whenever he refers to her as "our" anything, you understand what he means immediately. You'd not been very strict with Lily about some things, and this was one of them. In your defense, however, up to this point, there wasn't much going on in this room for her to interrupt, frankly. But she was certainly old enough and smart enough to know the correct way to behave when confronted by a closed door.

"But she has nightmares!" you say, wanting him to be aware of that – to adjust or defer the lesson if that was the case - although you have to admit that, since he had become a part of your lives, she hadn't had even one instance of them.

And you are about to find out the exact reason _why_ she hasn't, although he seemed to have slowed time in some way so that you could talk.

Loki frowns, turning back to you. "Has she had many lately?"

"No, I was just thinking she hadn't . . ."

"Good. She's told me that she has them sometimes, and I was hoping that they'd abated."

You'd love to pursue that further, but there wasn't time.

And you're going to get your wish anyway, although you're not going to be as happy about it.

Loki assuages your concerns. "In any case, if there's something actually wrong, of course I want her to come running to us. But when she's not hemorrhaging and there aren't any broken bones involved or demons chasing her, I expect her to respect a closed door."

He arranges the two of you the way he'd described, just before Lily takes a flying leap onto the bed – to be caught by Loki and held a bit away from him as her arms automatically come out to wrap around him. But he's holding her too far away from him – in his long arms – for her to be able to do that, as he's busy exiting the bed, hearing your breath catch behind him because he was naked a second ago.

As he eases out from under the covers, though, and in a manner that assures you that Lily saw nothing she shouldn't, a pair of black silk pajama pants appear on him, along with a beautiful black and gold brocade robe. When he is dressed- which happens in the blink of an eye while he's moving – he holds Lily against him, on his hip, walking with her back to the door, stepping out into the hall and closing it behind him - and, apparently, lifting the soundproofing he usually kept in place when you were together so that you can hear what transpires between them. You are surprised to realize that you can see it in your mind, too, as clearly as if the door wasn't there.

Loki sets Lily on her feet close to him, then, as he almost always did, he took a knee before her – a true Prince kneeling before his itty bitty Princess.

"Are you all right, my precious one?" he asks, voice full of concern.

Lily nods.

He reaches out to feel her forehead, then down her arms and legs quickly, checking for broken bones, still looking very serious and worried. "There is no emergency? You are not sick? Did you have a bad dream?" he probes gently.

"No, I'm fine. I dust wanna tell Mumma about somefin that happened in school today."

"And I am quite sure that she would love to hear all about it – so would I, little one," he cups her cheek in one big palm, a warm, loving expression on his face, tone gentle but firm as his eyes hold hers. "But – unless you are sick or scared or hurt – I think you know what you need to do when you see that a door is closed, don't you?"

His approach with her is utterly perfect, as usual. His obviously concern for her ensures that she doesn't feel he's criticizing her behavior and his voice is just as full of worry, so she knows he's not angry with her in the least, either. Even when he's correcting her, Loki takes careful pains to make sure that she feels that she is _always_ safe with him and loved by him, and thus she wants to obey him and do what's right.

Lily thinks hard for a moment, then you see her face literally light up as she remembers what you'd taught her – then neglected to enforce very often , if at all.

"Ummm . . . I knock onna door and wait for Mumma to ask whose it is, and then I say 'Wiwy' and she says 'come on in' or 'not come in'?"

Her childish – yet absolutely correct – understanding of the procedure results in a wonderful smile spreading over Loki's face, the likes of which you've only ever seen when he is engaging with Lily. He beams down at her, pressing his forehead to hers then kissing the tip of her nose, exclaiming enthusiastically, "Exactly! What a smart girl you are! I knew you'd know just what to do!"

Loki stands, saying, "Now, I am going to go back in the bedroom, and you are going to stay out here, and we are going to practice, because, unless you are sick or hurt or scared, I do not want you bursting through a closed door again without having knocked first. But you're too good a girl to be that impolite, are you not?"

Always happy to be called a good girl – by Loki in particular – Lily nods wisely.

"I know you are! So, once I've closed it, you knock on the door like you've just come from your bedroom, and I shall be on the other side and ask whose it is."

"'K!"

You can't help but smile, too, at Loki's use of Lily's inventive vernacular.

Seconds later, he's standing in the bedroom, with the closed door between them, and you are instantly treated to Lily's enthusiastic knocking.

"Whose is it?" Loki cocks his head and asks, changing his voice so that it's ridiculously high pitched, and he sounds like a frail old lady, which has Lily dissolving into giggles.

And you, too.

"It's Wiwy!" she says, between spurts of laughter.

"Lily who?" The old lady is apparently highly suspicious now.

More gales of laughter. "Youw Wiwy!" she giggle-yells back.

Loki opens the door and pretends to be surprised at her appearance, switching back to his real voice. "Oh, _that_ Lily! Well, it seems as if there is a very special Princess behind every door in this establishment! How _do_ they do it?"

He bends down again and Lily rushes into his open arms to be held high above his head. "Did I do it wight?"

You love to see how he melts around her – your very big, very strong, very powerful Prince is putty in her little hands.

"You did it perfectly, my angel," he reassures her lovingly. He swings her around a bit as he carries her towards the bed.

Then, just as he's laying her down next to you to get into bed beside her, so that she was between you, she pipes up out of the blue with, "But Woki, when you come to my woom at night, you don't knock. Why come?"

Loki freezes at that, but you perk up at her innocent – yet revealing - question.

"Loki comes to your room at night, Lily?" you ask interestedly, turning a bit towards the little girl.

She nods big. "Huh-huh. Almos' evewy night since we camed home from his pwace. He tells me stowies and makes my stuffies dance and sometimes he sings to me, too, Mumma! 'N if I'm having twouble sweeping, he stays wif' me. He even 'fends me from my nightmawes."

You catch Loki's eye over Lily's head, one eyebrow raised, not saying anything yet but giving him that accusatory look and noting that he already looks thoroughly guilty.

He can plainly see that you're not at all happy to find out about his late night visitations.

So can Lily – who looks from you to him and back again – her lower lip pooching out as if she's going to cry.

As you scoot out of your side of the bed, you ask Loki – although you're not really asking – "Can I talk to you in the hall, please?" You turn to your daughter. "Lilybug, I want you to stay right here until I get back." You hand her a book from the emergency stash in your nightstand as she begins to sniffle, but you have other things to deal with at the moment. Pinning him with your gaze, you say in your sternest tone, "Mumma and Woki need to have a little talk."

That seems to give her food for thought.

"Was Woki naughty, Mumma?" she asks.

Suppressing a smile, you answer, still staring angrily at him, "Yes, Woki was very, very naughty."

When you get him out into the hall, noticing that his armor has descended upon him – and thinking that he might need protection from you isn't necessarily that far off, considering how you feel - you read him the riot act.

"You're all over Lily about not knocking, but then I find out that you've come into my daughter's room in the middle of the night without asking my permission – hell, without even the most basic of courtesies, like letting me know that you're doing it _at all_?!"

"I - " he begins, his chin up, and you sense somehow that he has decided to fib to you, to get himself off easy because he hates the idea of you being angry with him, but then he thinks better of it and bows his head a bit in true remorse. "Yes, I have been visiting Lily in the evenings to say goodnight to her." He wisely does not divulge that he always peeks in on you, too. "And I realize now that I should have told you that I -"

He takes one look at your expression and adjusts his tactics.

"That I should have asked your permission prior to doing so." He bows low before you. "Please accept my sincerest apologies -"

"Don't bother, since you're only offering them because you got caught. I assume you've continued doing it, even after I specifically asked you not to the first time you arrived in our living room that way?"

He frowns, but he also nods his head reluctantly.

Incensed, you turn and walk to the front door, holding it open expectantly, without saying anything further, your eyes anywhere and everywhere – a little nervously - but not on him any longer.

He looks at you for a long moment, and you know that you're playing with fire, that he was damned near omnipotent and definitely not used to being treated this way by a mere mortal, but this is your house, dammit, and he has no right to enter it without your permission - without your _knowledge,_ at the _very_ least!

And this is the second time you've had to have a discussion along these lines with him!

Loki walks to the door as if he's going to face an executioner when he arrives there, pausing in front of you to look down at you and say, with great sincerity, "I _am_ truly sorry."

You do not respond, and you're not willing to even look him in the eye, either. You know yourself to be much too weak when it comes to him. If you do, you'll end up beneath him on the couch, or the floor, or up against the wall, and he'll make you forget your very righteous anger – without ever having to use magic on you, either, you acknowledge to yourself with no small amount of embarrassment.

After another long, silent moment, he steps slowly through the door, turning instantly around to look at you, but you close and lock it before you have second thoughts, recognizing the absolute futility of your actions as you do them.

Just for good measure, and knowing that he's still right on the other side of the door, you say, "I revoke your invitation into this house."

And he responds almost immediately, "I believe that only works on vampires . . . "

Dear God, are vampires real, too? Your mind goes there first, then you remember that you're mad at him.

"Go _away_ , Loki. For the moment, at least, you are persona non grata around here."

"How long?" he asks, his usually smooth, eloquent voice gruff with emotion.

Staunchly fighting back tears, you turn and lean your back up against the door, wrapping your arms around yourself and knowing that it should be his arms that are around you, no matter what he did to upset you.

"I don't know." Sometimes you can hold a grudge for a very long time, but you don't see that happening with him, regardless of your current ire – not that you tell him that.

"I will miss you - and our Princess Lily," he admits quietly. "I hope that one day - soon - you will be able to see your way to forgiving me my trespasses."

For some reason, that triggers a bit of a rant in you, where you excoriate him and reveal just how violated you feel about his little evening visits - leaving out the bit of jealousy you feel that he came to Lily and not to you - but eventually you wind down and realize he hasn't said anything in a while.

You're so short you have to go on tiptoes to reach the "peekhowe", and see you've been yelling at no one for Lord knows how long.

The bastard.

Your nosy neighbors'll think you're even crazier than they already do!

But you can also see that there's something on the floor in front of the door.

You open it cautiously, reaching down to retrieve what looks very much like a rose, but, when you pick it up, it's one truly enormous emerald that's been delicately carved to look like one, with variegated and gilt edges, gilt stem, and delicate emerald leaves with gilt edges that are various light and dark shades of the gem, to reflect the petals that are similarly colored and decorated.

It's just gorgeous, and obviously priceless, and, in your neighborhood, you're damned glad that no one else has seen you find it in the hallway.

You bring it into your apartment, marveling at how beautiful it is and wondering if you're going to need to put another lock on the door because of it, putting it into a cheap vase that doesn't begin to do it justice, but knowing you're going to have to give it back to him anyway - eventually, once you've forgiven him, which your body is already loudly championing, especially since you were interrupted at a very crucial point of your lovemaking.

And Lord knows _he_ isn't going to make it easy for you to remain pissed at him.

And your theory is borne out by the fact that he sends gifts to you every day with handwritten notes of apology, mostly small things because he learns quickly that you will send anything you think is too expensive back to him, and he always includes something for Lily, too, who is also his very vocal advocate, even though she seems to think that you have put him in the "growned up" equivalent of a time out.

He even sends things to your office, where, the next Monday, you get a delivery that has everyone – especially the women - crowding around your desk, oohing and ahhing. It's an enormous bouquet of red roses – so many you didn't really take the time to count them.

His note tells you that he hopes – although he knows how much you hate Mondays – that you have a good one, and that the roses bring one of your beautiful smiles to your face. He signed it, "With sincerest apologies, Your Loki".

In an hour or so, you receive another present, when you are called down to the reception desk to pick up an humongous box of very expensive gourmet chocolates that is almost too heavy for you to lift, and which you, of course, share with everyone else – it isn't as if any of the vultures you work with are going to let you send _that_ back to him.

That note says that the candies are nowhere near as sweet as you are, and it is signed, "Mea culpa, Your Prince".

The next delivery is an enormous collection of "I'm sorry" balloons, that is so big that if you were outside they might have floated you away. That card – since the balloons kind of spoke for him, simply says, "All my love, Loki".

By now, your coworkers are pushing you to call him and forgive him – preferably within earshot - but you can't quite bring yourself to do it, even when the enormous stuffed bear arrives, or the very last gift, just about the time you usually take your afternoon break, which is enough gourmet ice cream and toppings to sate the entire floor.

About a week has gone by since you banished him, and you've decided to let him off the hook, partly – okay, largely – because, in keeping him from seeing you, you are essentially punishing yourself just as effectively – or perhaps even worse – than you're punishing him.

The same night you plan to invite him to come over so you can forgive him, there's a knock at the door, and you're kind of thinking that perhaps he knew how you were feeling and had decided to hurry things along a bit.

You kind of have a hunch that he's not going to let you continue to shut him out of your life for much longer, anyway. He's apologized in every possible way he can, and some ways he shouldn't have, and you would be willing to bet that, if he didn't hear from you within a few days, he'd take matters into his own hands.

But, when you foolishly – and hypocritically – open the door without looking first – certain that it's him – you see Brian standing there instead, and one look at him reveals that he's drunker than a skunk before he's even opened his mouth, to say nothing of the fact that the beer fumes are already wafting to you fit to knock you over. What was he doing – showering in the stuff?

Considering how rough he looked, you think he might well not be showering in anything at all.

Lily had been on her way to bed and is in her little pink frog-prince embellished footie pajamas, but has come out to the living room all excited, expecting that your visitor was Loki, too. But she stumbles and slows to a stop as she abruptly changes course to run – not into her father's arms, as she would have unreservedly into the waiting arms of the man who had become much more of a father to her than the one who now strode into your apartment as if he owned it – but to you, instead, to cower behind you, her little body trembling against yours.

"It's about time you answered the fucking door, Miss Bitch. And shouldn't she -" he didn't even bother to call his daughter by her name, " – be in bed by now? Go to bed!" he yelled, leaning down to try to scream it into Lily's face. "Now!"

"Stop yelling at her! Do you ever have any other voice but a full on scream?" You could feel her shaking even worse now as she presses herself closer against the back of your legs.

Still practically at the top of his lungs, Brian spewed, "I'm your fucking father, God dammit, and you will do as I tell you to do, you spoiled little brat, or I'll make you wish you did!"

He grabs at Lily, but you block him, which you know from previous experience will divert his irrational, alcohol infused rage to you. Your ploy works, and you're glad that it did, although he seems much more terrifying to you tonight than he ever did before – perhaps because you now have the shining example of how Loki treats you to compare his behavior to. His face inches from yours, breath inconceivably bad, he lets loose with a long rant about how you should feel grateful that he still came around at all, considering how homely and fat you are, and how slow and stupid "the kid" is, that he's not about to let you continue to spoil "the girl", and that – despite how butt ugly he finds you – he intends to do what he considers to be the tremendous favor of "drilling" you as soon as you get rid of "that brat".

Although – through your fear - the impulse to roll your eyes at him is definitely there, but you tamp it down, taking a big step away from him, keeping your voice consciously low and steady. "No, thanks, Brian. I'm seeing someone, and you need to leave before I call the police."

But you are about to be very starkly reminded that this isn't like the Brian you were married to. His situation has worsened considerably on a lot of levels since you've divorced, and he blames you for it, of course. His constant boozing has left him out of a job, and he no longer has your steady income to fall back on. There's no one to see that he eats or to clean up after him, and even the stream of women he's always been able to come up with has dried up in the face of his increasingly violent behavior.

But you don't know any of this.

 _This_ Brian isn't about to put up with you talking back to him or threatening him with the cops as he might have previously. And he certainly doesn't want to hear that you've had the audacity to find someone else, as much as he thinks you're lying about that. Really, who would want _you_ , after all?

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he's calling you the worst kind of whore and slut, and then he takes it to the next level, unexpectedly raising his arm and backhanding you hard across the face, splitting your lip open against your teeth, and it immediately begins to swell.

Ignoring the pain – and Lily's horrified cry - you again ask him to leave, saying that if he wants to see Lily – which you know he doesn't – he can schedule a supervised visit – that you vow to yourself to do everything in your power to prevent. You stress that he _has_ to leave, even going so far as to walk to the door – which isn't easy with Lily's arms still wrapped tightly around your legs - and opening it, hoping that someone will be in the hall and come to your aid, but no such luck.

As you suspected he would, he completely ignores your much too subtle attempt to get rid of him, plopping bonelessly down into the chair in the living room so heavily that it creaks and groans while giving you a defiant look that challenges you to try to throw him out. You close the door in defeat and move to stand in front of the hallway, instead, so that Lily, who is still behind you, will have somewhere to run should she need to.

And it's looking as if she might.

You're disheartened to realize that those all too familiar feelings of helplessness and fear and dread and hopelessness you'd lived with when you were with him have already begun to cloud your mind, to the exclusion of almost everything else. You literally can't think straight. You're already at the end of your rope but you know that he's just getting started, your painfully throbbing lip only adding to your mental chaos, knowing there's no way that you're going to be able to get him to leave on your own.

But suddenly, you know you won't have to.

Loki appears by the door in a tremendously – and you suspect deliberately - loud flash of green light and smoke, in full regalia including horns that nearly crease the ceiling tiles - crossing the living room to the two of you immediately and gathering the both of you to him – utterly ignoring Brian's presence in favor of seeing to you. His touch as he tips your chin a little to get a better view of your swollen, bleeding lip is incredibly gentle and you can see that – although he's infinitely calm, he's in a barely controlled rage that Brian has dared to hurt you – to touch in _any_ way that which he considers to be his.

Then he crouches down and addresses Lily, drying her tears and cupping her cheek, calmly and quietly telling her that she's safe now, but to stay put where she is, and reminding her that she is his dearest littlest Princess.

Loki rises and turns back to the living room, putting the two of you bodily behind him and under his strongest protection spell – which is probably overkill, considering his opponent is only a mortal, and a weak, low-life weasely one who preys on women and children at that, but he will not take any chances with either of you at all, embarrassed and horrified that the spell he'd had on the two of you – almost since he'd met you - had failed him, somehow, both in not protecting either of you from that vile jackass, and also not warning him that you were in danger.

Something must be interfering in his spells, but he would have look into that later.

Right now, there was garbage to be taken out.

He doesn't posture or bluster like your ex is immediately doing – he simply stands there facing the other man with his arms crossed over his chest. Brian instantly jumps out of his chair and gets right in Loki's face, insulting him, labeling him a pussy and calling him out about his attack on the city, boldly – and stupidly, which is no surprise - warning Loki away from "his woman", fuming about how he's your husband – having conveniently forgotten the divorce he hadn't wanted in the first place - and he _owns_ you as he spits your name out of his nasty-assed mouth as if it is a curse.

You watch Loki's face darken even more forebodingly. "Please, say her name again," he asks in a deadly calm, tight tone, but Brian somehow manages to read the situation correctly for once and keeps his big mouth shut.

Loki remains where he is, bristling, but staying carefully calm in a way that is, in itself, a warning. Brian flinches back when he finally does move, even though it's just to lower his arms to his sides, but you can see Loki's fists clenching rhythmically as well as a muscle working angrily in his jaw. Then he advances towards the other man – the very picture of menace - as Brian takes a swing and punches right through him, nearly falling flat on his face with the force of his swing.

Turning towards Loki, the younger man snarls, "Why don't you fight like a man instead of using those faggot tricks of yours? Huh? Afraid I'll beat you?"

You can't help but snicker softly at that idea, knowing that Loki is merely playing with him.

Loki cocks his head to one side from where he's materialized behind Brian as he walks slowly around the other man, looking him up and down as if he's a particularly odious specimen, leaving no doubt by his expression and tone that he finds him severely lacking in every possible way, and ending up standing in front of him again. "Why would I 'fight like a man' when I am _not_ a man? I am a _God_." Loki gestures towards you and Lily. "And make no mistake, you sniveling, cowardly, waste of existence: those two are most definitely _not_ yours. You aren't fit for them to walk on. You're not fit to breathe the same air they do. They're _mine_ – the both of them," he snarls, almost making you jump, " – and you, little _man_ – if you value your puny, pathetic failure of a life - would do well to remember that."

Conscious of the fact that the man's child is looking on – even if he didn't deserve such a wonderful daughter as Lily, nor a woman as amazing as you – it still requires all of his willpower for Loki to get hold of his temper and not take Brian apart piece by excruciatingly painful piece – as he would so desperately prefer to do, especially when he remembers seeing the overwhelming fear in Lily's eyes, and the blatant evidence that he has raised his hand to you. That alone should condemn the man to die by his hand, as far as Loki is concerned.

Instead, he meets what was supposed to be Brian's surprise attack swinging fist with his palm, easily crushing it, until he's crowding a whimpering, howling, cowering Brian back against the wall next to the door. Then the tall God leans forward to whisper something into his ear that leaves the shorter man blanched stark white, shaking like a leaf and screaming like a maniac until Loki raises his hand – at which Brian cringes again – to put his finger to his lips, which silences him immediately. Brian somehow now looks much smaller – and much less frightening - when Loki steps back to let him go, his mouth open, still trying to scream but with no sound coming out. As he quickly finds the door and uses it, he pays no attention to you or Lily whatsoever, his starkly crazy eyes focused in abject terror on his tormenter alone.

As soon as he can detect that the worm has truly left with no plans to return, Loki rushes to you and brings the both of you into his arms for a long, tight hug, during which he can feel you two trembling uncontrollably and it nearly breaks his heart, sounding thoroughly mortified as he murmurs softly to you.

"I am so sorry that it took me so long to get to you, my beautiful girls." He decides not to mention anything about his safety spells failing until he can investigate it more thoroughly. "But you are safe." He smiles reassuringly at Lily, lifting her into his arms and holding her tightly to him as he stands to look into your still troubled eyes. "I must make my apologies to you in particular, my love. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive that I allowed that swine to hurt you?"

Still shaking, although more because of aftershock now, you answer tremulously, "O-of course. Th-thank you for coming."

"Nothing in existence on any known or unknown world could ever keep me from you."

You draw a shaky breath and look him in the eye. "I hereby rescind what I said on a lot of levels. You can pop in any time you like – who cares if you knock!" You try to smile, but it hurts and you stop, and he continues to look stricken at your pain. You take a step closer to him, plastering yourself even further against him, his arm immediately settling even more firmly and comfortingly around your waist. "And I forgive you for the nighttime visits, too. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you about that before this. I meant to tell you that tonight, but I didn't know he was coming, and I really kinda thought he was going to be you."

Loki leans a little away from you, holding his slightly bluish finger – its appearance startling you at first - to your lip which immediately makes you feel better, numbing the area nicely. Then he brings the both of you with him to lie down on the couch – soothing and comforting you constantly, touching you both reassuringly – patting your backs and stroking your hair - until you're feeling a bit better. Lily has settled down enough to be quietly playing on the floor in front of the couch – although you note that she's tucked herself tight up against the leg that you suspect Loki has deliberately rested on the floor for her to do just that in an effort to make her feel more secure - while you two cuddle on it.

While he lies on his back, his hand idly brushing through your hair, you lie sprawled over him, clutching the big hand that's on his stomach. Then you ask him quietly, "What did you say to him?

Loki reaches down to play casually with Lily's hair, and you know that, in doing so, he is preventing her from hearing the answer he gives you. "I am not in the least ashamed to tell you that my first instinct was to end him, in the most torturous, painful method I could devise, and I would have felt so even if he had only caused either of you the slightest amount of pain or fear, and I know he did much more than that."

You meet his eyes and nod solemnly.

"But I also thought that perhaps you would not approve of me taking such a drastic measure, because he _is_ Lily's father, and, although I know that he is not much of one to her, I could not bring myself to do that to Lily, either. So I told him that – instead of dismembering him slowly, as was my wont - that he owed you his life this time, because I knew you would not want him killed. I also might have mentioned that I would not be anywhere _near_ merciful enough to merely kill him if he ever so much as _thought_ of contacting you - much less actually touching you – again, letting him know that I would know instantaneously if he had, and that I would use every power at my disposal to make certain that his life was a never ending Hell on Earth from that moment on. Then I graciously gave him a little mental glimpse of just exactly what that would mean for him."

Shivering at that idea – and knowing now why Brian had reacted the way he had to Loki's whispers – you swallow hard at his fierce defense of you, you thank him sincerely for rescuing the two of you.

He presses reverential kisses on your forehead, eyelids, cheeks and jawline. "You need not thank me, my darling. I am glad that you are all right, and I am so very sorry that I didn't get here in time to prevent him from laying his filthy hands on you again."

You know you didn't call for him as he had said you should, and you have a feeling he might take exception to that, but you can't seem to keep yourself from asking, "How did you know he was here?"

"I felt Lily - and to a lesser extent you - being terribly scared." Although not as acutely as he should have, in either case, which was troublesome. "Unfortunately I was quite a ways away and couldn't get to you as quickly as I would have preferred."

Faulty spells aside, Loki frowned, rather deeply, tapping the tip of his index finger against his lips, looking pensive and very unhappy at the same time, and you know you're in trouble long before he speaks. "Funny, I believe I remember telling you to contact me when he appeared again, and yet I received no such call – of any kind - from you . . . ?"

Loki looks you right in the eye, a dark eyebrow raised, the intensity – and meaning behind – of his words and gaze - making you immediately look down and squirm – as if in anticipation - as he reaches out to pat your bottom firmly in what you know is a harbinger of many not so pleasant pats to come.


End file.
